


Scars Heal

by ZonateBiscuit



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Language, Mature things, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-03-14 10:27:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 53,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3407264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZonateBiscuit/pseuds/ZonateBiscuit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scars can be harsh and obvious; healed wounds of grander or terrible things... but what of the scars we don't see? Ferin is asked by Gandalf to aid the Dwarves in the journey to take back Erebor. Only she is in an unfortunate, and quite ridiculous situation when she first meets them. Thorin/OFC.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Unexpected Party

_A lovely stretch of limbs is good for the soul, thought Sivan_ , daughter of Ruben, as she lay back on a bank of soft grass. Her curled hair, a dark and vibrant red, gleamed in the afternoon sunlight, recently cleaned of the grease, sweat and dirt that had been caked there from her recent adventure.

 

A quiet sigh. She closed her eyes, listening to the wind and the chatter of nearby Hobbits.  “This is a grand place, Ferin,” she called out with a lilting voice. “Come and sit with me. It’s so relaxing.”

 

A damp, heavily scarred dog trotted by on the dirt path that travelled through Hobbiton near the marketplace. She was followed avidly by several Hobbit children, hands outstretched in an attempt to catch her. Nearby adults chuckled or got on with selling their wares to passers by. Ears flat back against her head and tail lowered slightly, Ferin the dog sent a glance towards her companion. _‘I would, but I’m being hounded by children, if you haven’t noticed.’_ The dog turned, slipped through grabbing fingers and trotted the opposite way. _‘A little help would be appreciated.’_

Sivan chuckled, reaching out to reassure herself that her staff was nearby. Hobbiton was a peaceful place, but she knew from experience that that could change. Smiling contently, she turned her face towards the heat of the sun.  “Ah don’t be so unkind. They only want to play.”

 

Ferin picked up her pace to a steady lope. She had endured weeks of the young woman’s company, and had bathed at her insistence ( _“Hobbiton is a very clean and friendly place, Ferin! If you must act like a dog, the least you can do is not smell like one!”_ ), but playing with the little Halflings was beyond her energy and patience today. Her bones ached, her muscles cried out for a rest, and the pads of her paws stung with cracks and splits from travelling over rough terrain. She wanted food and rest and to not be a dog for the remainder of her life, but that was looking less likely every day.

 

The children weren’t fazed by her insistence on escaping; they just laughed and tried harder.  Growling hadn’t done much, but Ferin truly didn’t have it in her to follow through on warning them off that way. They didn’t know any better.

 

“They are _children_ , not enemies, my dear,” Gandalf would say. _They are a nuisance, she thought, uncharitably. With sticky hands and loud voices._

 

 _‘I don’t_ play _,’_ she thought exasperatingly to her companion.

 

Sivan slowly rolled onto her stomach to rest her chin on her arms.Opening her eyes, the young Mage watched the scene play out in front of her. She hummed, too happy to care. “I think you might not have to. They seem to be entertained enough from this alone.”

 

Ferin turned sharply when a heavyset boy got too close. Aiming her way towards the Mage, she lept over Sivan’s prone form with ease, grunting when the landing jarred through her. For a brief moment, hope stirred in Ferin’s chest, but it was dashed when Sivan happily remained still to let the children follow.

 

A sudden cacophony of other children’s voices alerted Ferin to a tall man in grey robes walking up the path. He carried a long, worn staff in one hand to ease his stride down the gentle slope from his journey to the Bagginses, casually clutching his robes to prevent any potential misstep. Some of the children ran to greet him, begging him to show them some tricks and magic, but he chuckled and waved them off with, “Another time, perhaps when I am less busy! Ah! There you are, my dears. Enjoying the sun?”

 

Ferin spotted an opportunity. Gandalf ruined it by easily stepping to the side when Ferin tried to hide behind his legs. The children pursued.  Ferin and the children circled for a few moments, Gandalf foiling Ferin’s idea every step. He chuckled and moved a final time, allowing the tiny hobbits to finally grasp hold of their prize.

 

Ferin sighed, and slumped morosely. Defeated by Halflings and a old man. A particularly amorous girl pulled hard on her ear. Ferin turned quickly to grasp the child’s hand on her mouth in warning. Although the pressure was gentle, Ferin could tell it made an impact; the girl looked away and murmured an apology. She would tolerate a fair amount of what was to come, but pulling harshly on sensitive parts was not among them. _‘I have done my task, you old Wizard. Would it behoove you to remove these children before I lose what’s left of my patience?’_

 

“Gandalf!” Sivan greeted happily, cutting off Gandalf’s reply to Ferin. The young woman pushed herself up to greet the Wizard properly. Brushing off the grass that clung to her dress, she grasped her own staff and approached him with a smile. The young woman only came to his shoulder, her staff a foot shorter again, but she exuded friendly confidence to the more powerful, if slightly dottery-looking old man. “I don’t really know why I’ve never been before. This place is wonderful!”

 

Gandalf smiled down at her. “I very much agree. I can only hope you enjoy it here as much as I always have.”

 

 _‘Any news of our new addition?’_ Ferin asked, seeing no reply to be forthcoming for her rescue. One child lifted a large paw to placed his own hand against the pads, measuring carefully.

 

“Her paw is bigger than my hand, Daisy! Look, look!”

A young Hobbit lass marched up, and squinted. “It’s in terrible shape, though, Bramby. Mother would disapprove. Out wandering and not looking after itself, I’d say. A right proper stray.”

Ferin pulled her paw away, offended. She sent a glare to the little Miss, but it didn’t seem to phase her.

 

“Yes indeed!” Gandalf continued, oblivious to Ferin’s plight. “Our Mr. Baggins is going to host a dinner for all of us this very evening, in fact. I am just on my way to inform the others.”

 

Ferin felt a shiver of anticipation. Food and escape from the children. _‘I think I’ll join you.’_

 

“Oh no, Ferin. I wouldn’t dream of it. I would enjoy my time here while it lasts, and I couldn’t _possibly_ take you away. You are having so much fun.”

 

 _‘You’re not being serious, are you?’_   
  
A very shy girl, one who’d stayed at the back of the little group, stepped forward to bravely gave Ferin a very enthusiastic hug (Ferin, in her current form, being taller than the child) as if to prove that leaving would deprive her of their love.

 

Ferin closed her eyes and sighed. Sivan laughed, and Gandalf waved them off, turning and making his way towards the Inn.

 

 _‘Bloody old Wizard.’_ A line of children appeared, each little Hobbit lad and lass waiting patiently for their turn for an embrace.

 

“So,” came Sivan’s cheerful voice. “Any idea which home it is then?”

 

Ferin groaned. It was going to be a long afternoon.

 

**

 

Once the sun had set and the lamps had been lit, Ferin quickly and quietly took refuge on top of a roof nearby, watching the children eventually scurry off to their mother’s calls for food. Curling up on the earthen roof, Ferin finally enjoyed some peace and quiet. Well, at least until the indignant owner of the house had come home to give out to the strange creature that now occupied the roof of his home like an ominous ornament. He ran out of words eventually when she didn’t so much as bat an eye.

 

The earthen roof was quite comfortable, and Ferin soon found herself relaxing, content to watch the nightlife of the Hobbits that strolled by. The main path from the Inn to Hobbiton was a busy one. Merchants and busy spouses totted wares back from markets or their fields, mothers were calling and scolding their children to come in when they were told, and both young and old couples strolled by, so wrapped up in each other they missed her completely. Ferin found that she was thankful. People stared wherever she went, even in Human villages. She was never sure if she just portrayed a dog poorly, or if it was just something inherently _off_ about the magic that had forced her into this form. Either way, people watched her. A lot.

 

An hour passed, maybe two. As the evening grew longer, Ferin saw less and less Hobbits. She thought she spotted a Dwarf or two by a further path, but they were gone quickly, and the shadows did not lend to her weary vision. All around her she could see houses lit up, warm and welcoming; there was a peace here that Ferin couldn’t remember experiencing before. It had been weeks since she’d been truly on her own. This sudden quiet made her feel oddly unsettled. This life, this _peace_ wasn’t meant for the likes of her. She didn’t belong here in this untouched world. _I don’t belong anywhere, anymore._

 

“Ferin! Where are you?”

 

The voice roused her her from her bout of melancholy, and Ferin tried to remind herself not to think such morbid thoughts. Sivan was standing near the gate of the home she was perched upon, searching back and forth along the path for her friend. Rising to carefully make her way down the side of the home ( _‘There, you silly Hobbit. I haven’t ruined your careful work.’_ ), Ferin called out, _‘Over here, Sivan.’_

 

Padding over to the gate, Ferin nosed her way through. Sivan smiled upon seeing her. “There you are. I’ve found Mister Baggins’ home, but it’s all the way up there.” She pointed to a hill, where they could just make out the rounded Hobbit home resting on the crest. Ferin thought it looked like every other hill. “Gandalf and some of the others are heading this way. I spotted them from further up and, really, you can’t miss them. A mismatched rowdy group of Dwarves. We’ll wait here and I can show them where to go.”

 

Ferin didn’t respond, choosing instead to sit quietly beside her companion. Sivan was Human.  A very tall Human, but still not as tall as Gandalf. Ferin only reached the young Mage’s hip when standing, but the young woman was a slight thing, all delicate hands and wild hair. The prospect of meeting Dwarves made her tremble in excitement.

“Ah, Miss Sivan!” called Gandalf, making his way towards them. Behind him was a dissonance of short, stocky men with enthusiastic hand gestures and loud voices.

 

Sivan waved in greeting, and was swiftly introduced to Oin, Gloin, Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, Nori, Dori, and Ori. Ferin’s mind immediately rebelled at remembering so many names, but Sivan was only too happy to sponge it all in and chat away. Ferin warily kept her distance, following beside them at a steady pace along a grass verge. She may only reach the waist of the tallest Dwarf among them, but they were muscle and weight against her slighter form.

 

They ignored her for the most part, outside of the odd curious glance. Gandalf had suggested they be allowed to believe that Ferin was nothing more than she appeared: a large, scruffy dog. For this, Ferin was grateful. It had been difficult enough to convince them to allow Sivan, a young Human woman, to join them (as Gandalf’s apprentice of sorts), so it was with no great difficulty to see how they would react to Ferin’s slightly less than useful looking form.

 

So for now, she was a dog.

 

It was a shame that she was so terrible at it. The thoughts of being petted and talked down to always put her on edge, and, most likely, the behaviour only added to the wrongness of what she was. She sighed in resignation, concentrating on filtering out the chatter. There was a cold curl of cool air, and the scent of dampness that brought thoughts of rain, winding down around Hobbiton. All Ferin wanted was food and rest.

 

It was several minutes later, with the evening well on its way, when one Dwarf finally noticed the dog keeping pace beside their group.

 

“Oh!” he cried in surprise, before barking out a laugh. “So who’s your friend there, Miss Sivan?”  He moved towards her. Ferin tensed, ready for his version of petting, but she was surprised when all he did was take in her appearance. Uncomfortable under his quiet regard, Ferin flattened her ears and looked forward. She knew what she looked like; had seen her own reflection in enough rivers and lakes to describe it in her sleep: black and grey speckled coat, rough, scarred, and perpetually unhappy-looking for a dog.

 

“That would be my companion, Ferin, Mister Bofur!” Sivan called back, having briefly paused in her discussion of herbal tea with the delicate Dwarf with elaborate silver hair. Ferin was nearly sure that one’s name had an ‘or’ in it somewhere.

 

“Oh aye, Ferin is it?” He smiled and rubbed his fingers together to make a whisping sound. She couldn’t stop the reaction of her ear twitching, but she ignored him. “Oh don’t be like that, now,” he chuckled. “I’m not that bad.” Some of the others laughed. “Oi, I’m not,” he returned in good humour.

“She’s a bit particular, Master Dwarf,” Gandalf said from behind the group. “Be mindful with her.”

 

Bofur frowned, but didn’t persist.   _A sensible one then, perhaps._

 

When they finally reached the top, the gate was swung open without care and all rushed up to the door, eager for a good meal and excellent company. Unfortunately, poor Bilbo Baggins’ front porch was far from accommodating to eight Dwarves and one woman.  Sivan had just managed to reach the doorbell before those at the front nearly suffocated.

 

“Oi! Get your elbow out of my back!”

 

“Stop shoving!”

 

“I’m not bloody shoving! I’m going to fall down the steps if I don’t stand closer.”

 

“Easy lads, or we’ll all go tumbling.”

 

Ferin had almost escaped the mayhem but the unbalanced Dwarf had, indeed, managed to tilt backwards, his foot coming down to step on her paw.  She couldn’t help the yelp that escaped, quickly retreating backwards.

 

They all tried to turn to see, but the door was suddenly pulled open. The entire lot of them tilted forward with a startled cry. A brief pause thickened the air, and then the sound of wheezing groans from those at the bottom of the pile.

Ferin sighed and tried to flex out the tingling in her foot.

 

“At least they fell forward,” Gandalf said kindly to her, before smiling indulgently at the poor, haggard looking Halfling on the other side of the door.

**

 

A Hobbit’s hospitality was remarkable. At least, this one’s seemed to be. Either that, or he was just overwhelmed. Ferin was inclined to believe the latter.

There had already been four Dwarves present at the time of their arrival, and each of them got a very enthusiastic greeting that gave Ferin a headache.

While the Dwarves essentially ignored the homeowner, Sivan had stepped in with a curtsey and a smile, profusely apologising for intruding in the way that they had. She had taken the Halflings hand and had patted it sympathetically, all the while glancing around the abode so she could compliment his home.

“A fine place you have here, Mister Baggins, I must say. This area of The Shire is quite pleasing, and I was just saying to Gandalf how at ease I felt upon arriving. Do you know I’ve seen quite a few places in my time and...”

Ferin stopped listening. Having remained by the door until the troupe had blundered their way in, Ferin finally decided that she had better make her presence known lest their host close the door on her.

Slowly, so as to not startle the man, Ferin took cautious steps across the threshold. Mister Baggins glanced at her movement distractedly, hand still gently gripped by Sivan, before freezing entirely. Ferin was tempted to think he had managed to turn to stone.

Sivan stopped abruptly when his hand tightened its grip on her own. “Oh,” she murmured.

Ferin stopped, and lowered her gaze and head in a valiant effort to appear less intimidating. She wasn’t surprised that it didn’t work. Her shoulders nearly reached those of the Hobbit, so it was no wonder his first word to her was, “Wha...”

Sivan’s eyes widened in alarm. “Gandalf!” she called sharply.

The Wizard appeared just as Mister Baggins began to back away. Sivan released his hand, and stepped back into an archway, just as some of the others appeared, still chatting to each other. The stopped abruptly at the tension in the small space of the Hobbit’s hallway.

“What in all the world is that?” asked a silver-haired Dwarf, brows lowered in confusion. His taller, balder companion growled and shouldered his way through, grabbing a hand axe from a box by the door.

“No, Master Dwalin!” Gandalf rebuked sharply, moving forward to deter the forward momentum of the burly male. “Stop this foolishness at once! She is a friend. Harmless, and invited by yours truly, so put that down and stay your hand!”

“Aye,” piped Master Bofur, nodding and walking swiftly towards Ferin. She kept her gaze lowered, ears flat, and head down as he approached. He threw an arm over her shoulders and patted her side with a few hard slaps. “Harmless dog is all she is, Mister Bilbo.” He gave Feirn a  considering, if slightly wary, glance. “If a bit on the large side.”

A quick glance to Gandalf, and a responding one in kind, told Ferin that she’d better play along. So she sat, hunched in on herself to appear as small as possible.

_“If people begin to fear you,” Gandalf had told her once, when she had only recently started coping in her new form, “use your instincts to make yourself as submissive as possible. We are all animals, my dear, and we all react very strongly to body language.”_

It seemed to work. Gradually, everyone began to be at ease once more, and Bilbo became increasingly more distracted when the Dwarves took it upon themselves to take over his home.

Ferin, in a bid to remain unnoticeable where possible, slowly made her way towards the hearth in the living room. The fire was low, but warm enough to drive away some of the chill and aches in her bones. Ferin chose a spot under the archway that lead to the hall to avail of the heat, but also to watch the comings and goings of the new, temporary guests of the Halflings home.

Tables and chairs were moved, food pillaged and laid out, kegs of ale carried in by very eager young brothers. Dwarves were surprisingly dextrous despite the lumbering look of them. It had been so long since she had been around them. She had almost forgotten. There were rarely any collisions or damage. Everyone weaved around each other with ease. Well, Ferin mused, apart from Gandalf and Bilbo, the former trying his best to account for everyone, the latter looking cross and confused.

The young brothers ( _Fili and Kili, I think?_ ) tried their best to pat her on the head whenever they passed, but she easily ducked their questing hands. On their next pass, she managed to avoid them once more, only to endure a rough slap on the side by the one with the axe in his head. He grunted something intelligible and took hold of her nose. Ferin tensed at his sudden scrutiny. After a moment he nodded, moving away with another heavy pat of his thick hand on her shoulder.

 

Sivan had disappeared some time ago into the pantry with the roundest of Dwarves. Ferin hadn’t seen her since, though she did see the same Dwarf carrying out several blocks of cheese on his return.

 

She had to huff in amusement at the Wizard’s disappointment in the meager offering of wine from the delicate, silver-haired Dwarf. _‘Nowhere near enough for your gullet, I would imagine.’_ He paid her a passing, disapproving glance, before downing it.

After no more than half an hour, everyone had begun to migrate towards the table, and Ferin had to restrain herself. The smell of food was intoxicating, but she liked company less and less these days. They were noisey. Overwhelmingly so. Hunger was pressing on her stomach, but for now, she would wait.

 

Spotting Mister Baggins watching his house come to ruins, Ferin felt a pang of sympathy. There was nothing worse than a gang of boisterous people ruining your quiet evening. He’d tried several times to get his voice heard, but, in the end, the Hobbit had given up to stand near the archway, looking forlorn and lost.

 

When they finally settled into their seats, Ferin sighed. Curling a paw beneath her, she rested her chin on her extended leg. For now, she didn’t have to watch anything or anyone. Her guard duty was over. Sivan was safe. Ferin could hear her down at the far end of the table, laughing at something someone else said. Safe and well. _And out of my hair, so to speak._

 

Just when she had allowed her eyes to drift closed, Ferin heard someone coming in her direction. Ears pricked forward, she opened her eyes to find Mister Bofur leaning over to place down a plate of food by her nose. Raising her head, she regarded him warily.

He smiled. “Thought you might be hungry, lass. If you want more, just come over. Although I’d hurry, if I were you. No telling how fast this food will go, but it’ll be fast enough to leave your head spinning.” He laughed, and turned to go back to the table. Ferin watched him go. When he didn’t look back, or keep an eye on her as she thought he might, she cautiously sniffed the offering. It had been some time since she had had a decent meal. Too much travelling, and limited by her form, often lead her to look for scraps if she couldn’t outright hunt something down.

This was a delicacy she hadn’t had since she had been in her previous form. Despite her hunger, Ferin ate carefully, savouring as much as possible. There was no way to know when the next one would be.

 

Once the plate was cleaned (and shamefully licked) Ferin tried to ease back into a light doze. Ignoring the chatter was getting a bit easier. She had just reached a nice limbo of awareness when the sound of scraping chairs and chatter grew a bit louder. They began gathering up the plates, and laughed at Mister Baggins’ protests. He became increasingly more indignant, until they began to pick up a tune.

Ferin watched in disbelief at their antics. Cups and plates were lobbed back and forth, tossed carelessly, bumped, and nudged, and redirected… and not one of them broke. Not a scratch, or chip. No audible smash to be heard.

Mister Baggins was quite out of sorts about it all, until he arrived in the kitchen. Ferin watched his back and shoulders sink - in relief? It certainly seemed that way when the Dwarves raucous laughter followed the gesture.  

 

The kitchen was full and brimming with noise, and then suddenly it wasn’t. A heavy-handed knock interrupted, and an abrupt,  poignant silence filled the home.

 

“He is here.”

****  
  



	2. Doubts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin has arrived. There is a fainting burglar. There is talk of plans and a final rest before adventure.

Ferin watched quietly.

Thorin Oakenshield. His demeanour and introduction had been brief and full of arrogance. Even Gandalf had seemed exasperated by the short, unimpressive opinion of Bilbo.

 

“Dwarves,” the Wizard muttered, grimacing, shamefully watching Thorin enter further into the home as if he had every right to be there. The Hobbit looked a little confused and lost as to the point of this entire endeavour.

Ferin turned her eyes to Gandalf, hoping she could convey the indignant exasperation she felt. _‘You didn’t actually tell him, did you?’_

“Hmm?” he responded absently. Ferin didn’t pay any mind to his affected innocence.

She sighed. _‘I should have known better than to think you would.’_

_‘Of course I told him,’_ he thought back to her, gaze still resolutely on the back of Master Oakenshield’s head.

_‘Not in detail I would wager.’_

Gandalf came down with a sudden need to clear his throat.

 

Muffled laughter drifted over, and her ear twitched in annoyance. _‘Bullies. The lot of them. A shame I’d quite forgotten that.’_

 

Thorin turned at a gesture of one of his companions. His gaze found Sivan. The poor girl. Despite being a foot taller than the Dwarf,  she froze under his intense scrutiny.

 

He frowned. “This waif of a girl is the Human to accompany us?”

 

“Ah,” Gandalf mused, avoiding Thorin’s gaze while he looked for inspiration. “Well, no. Sivan is intending to stay in the Shire. The Human to accompany us will meet us on the morn, but I thought it would be best to get you used to the idea with young Sivan here. She is quite a fetching lady with a good spirit, if I do say so myself.” He grinned in supplication, but it turned into a grimace at Thorin’s expression.

 

“Aye,” squeaked Sivan, managing enough courage to stand straighter (as much as she could in Bilbo’s home) and look the Dwarf in the eye. “I wanted some good company, and Gandalf was kind enough to allow me to play stand in of sorts, until tomorrow.”

 

“Why didn’t you say so, lass?” came Bofur’s good humoured voice. “We would have made it more memorable for you!”

 

There were a few sniggers, and Sivan chuckled. “Thank you Master Bofur, that is most kind but unnecessary. I will have plenty of cheer in the coming weeks right here in the Shire.”

 

Ferin could see Thorin’s patience wearing thin with this tangent of conversation. So was hers. _‘Gandalf. Get on with it, please.’_

“Hmm? Oh yes, of course. Shall we begin?”

 

They gathered around the table. Ferin, unwilling to be left on the outskirts of the… adventure… she would be taking part in, stood silently to follow Gandalf. As the Wizard sat, adjusting his robes to accommodate his crouched stature and small seat, Ferin carefully brushed against some of the weaponry by the Glory box. This served two purposes. One, should Master Oakenshield decide she was a threat, he would not reach any more weapons than what he may currently have on his person, and two, Ferin was far enough away that she could maneuver around them all easily should things become heated.

The leader of their troup froze at the sound, tensing when the others did at the potential confrontation. Thorin had not seen her upon his regal arrival, but the others seemed ready for his reaction, eyes darting back and forth between the two.

Ferin watched his dark head tilt towards her, features shadowed in the dim light. He turned carefully, hands tightening by his sides. “What, is that?”

Sivan was the first to open her mouth, but Gandalf cleared his throat loudly. “That - ahem - _she_ , is Ferin. A... companion to young Sivan here. Her escort - or protector, if you will - travelling back from a village a few weeks to the South.”

“She looks like a mongrel Warg.”

“Thought that myself, but too small,” the bald one growled.

“Oh, dear.”

“Bad breeding, I’d say.”

“Ugly.”

“Um…” started Gandalf.

“Please, gentlemen,” Sivan spoke up pleadingly. “She is my friend.”

“Friend? It’s only a dog.”

“Or not.”

“Probably not.”

“She’s looking at us funny.”

“Bad luck to have something like that here.”

“Perhaps we should settle - ” Gandalf’s voice was lost again.

They grew louder. Ferin stood there and let them speak. This was not the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last, that she would ever hear such things.

“She’s really quite intelligent!” Sivan tried again, trying her best to be seen and heard over the opinions of the others. “Please leave her be.”

Thorin watched Ferin through it all. Ferin watched Thorin in return. He tilted his head just slightly, thick brows drawing down. He took a slow step forward -

Ferin lowered her head and bared her teeth, just as slowly.

A hard slap of skin on wood startled them all to silence, and yanked Thorin and Ferin out of their staring match. “Enough!” Gandalf snapped, glaring at them all. “Seat yourselves. There is more pressing business to attend to.”

One by one, they did so. Finally, Thorin and Ferin, still watching each other warily, took their places by the head of the table. Ferin sat carefully beside Gandalf, head reaching the same as the other Dwarves over the table as they sat. Bofur quickly grabbed a bowl and the remnants of what they had eaten, and made a quick broth for Thorin. A plate of bread beside him and he slowly (with a barely hidden restraint) ate his meager meal.

Ferin regarded him with bland curiosity. Every now and again he would glance up at her, his stare that of a warrior looking at a potential enemy for the first time. When he finished his first bowl, Bofur quietly got another while the others murmured among themselves for a bit. Thorin asked for no more after that, the second bowl still half full.

Then the silver-haired Dwarf from before - Balin, if she remembered correctly - began speaking, and the tension ebbed away. If only for a short time.

**

 

They talked of allies refusing to come, and of the Quest Gandalf had set them on. For no one else sane enough would ever suggest such a thing. Ever.

_‘Why would you press them to do this, old man?’_

Gandalf, who had lit his pipe while the others talked of their foretold quest, blinked at her. _‘What do you mean?’_

Ferin clenched her teeth. _‘No Dwarf wakes up at the light of dawn with the idea to suddenly travel halfway across the world to take on a Dragon.’_

__

_‘Perhaps it is merely time for such a thing,_ ' he mused, a puff of smoke trailing up to curl around the coving of the ceiling. _‘There is a time for everything, my dear. Aren’t you listening? It has been foretold.’_

__

Ferin narrowed her eyes. _‘I am too old for fairy tales,’_ she sighed.

Gandalf tried valiantly to hide his amusement. _‘No one is ever too old for a story or two.’_

__

Ferin looked away. Before her, the map rose and fell in shadow from flickering candle light. _‘I would be foolish to hope this one has a happy ending.’_

Speaking of tales, Bofur had a knack for finding the details. Bilbo didn’t seem to like his stories.

Before long, they were noisy again, arguing over Gandalf’s astounding Dragon slaying skills.

Ferin eyed him with an amused squint. _‘It’s a fine question, Wizard. How many have you killed?’_

He scowled down at her. _‘Now, now. No need to go along with this nonsense.'_

Thorin shouted for calm. They simmered to hear his warnings that others might follow the signs and get there first, but then he riled them up again with the thought of claiming Erebor, only to be deflated by Balin’s wise words of having no way in to the Lonely Mountain.

The talk moved to Gandalf, who produced a key. There was a murmur that sounded very much like hope, which lead to poor Mister Baggins and his role in the task of finding someone more adept at finding the potential whereabouts of the door, and to get past a Dragon. Bilbo’s simple, assured confirmation that he was indeed, very much _not_ a burglar, brought on more noise from the group.

Gandalf… derailed that cart very quickly. Ferin shook out her fur at the latent magic that permeated the air after his little display.

Another few moments passed, where an agreement was made and a contract was produced.The mention of the hidden doorway and a key had given them hope, but a fainting burglar left them unsure.

Ferin regarded the Dwarves around the table. Beneath the bluster and arrogance and oddness… she came to a sombre realisation.

These men wanted to go home.

 

Ferin breathed deeply, taking comfort in the acrid smell of Gandalf’s pipe. The Wizard had asked her to play the same part that she had with Sivan. She was here to accompany them, to aid them in any way she could. That was her role, and nothing more. _There is nothing more I could give._

 

Something touched her nose, startling her into opening her eyes. _I don’t remember closing them._ A small piece of bread, soaked in what smelled like chicken broth, was held out by a quiet and watchful Thorin. Without noticing, the others had begun to move about to arrange a place to sleep for the night, while some of them looked after Mister Baggins’ limp form. The Dwarf didn’t move, nor did he break eye contact.

 

Gandalf cleared his throat. “Amendments,” he murmured, causing Thorin to flick his gaze up before returning it to Ferin. She wondered if it was amendments to her, or the overall behaviour of his companions. If it was the latter, she knew a Hobbit who would benefit from it more.

 

Ferin regarded him for a moment, wondering if he’d take it away if she didn’t do anything. He didn’t. Allowing her gaze to move briefly across his face, from the dark sweep of his eyebrow to the intensity of his gaze, she finally moved her nose away. This was pointless. He didn’t understand what she was, and she had already eaten.

_‘It is an attempt. At least try,’_ Gandalf thought to her encouragingly. She still refused. He sighed.

 

Thorin watched her a moment more, before taking the morsel himself and finishing his meal. He frowned, and glanced at Gandalf. “Your dog is strange.”

 

**

 

“Are you alright?”

 

Ferin looked away from the burning wood of the fire to see a sombre Sivan taking a seat on a tiny stool. The wood creaked, but held, and she regarded Ferin quietly for several minutes. The young girls hands busied themselves picking at a loose thread on her dress.

 

Turning back to the fire, Ferin rested her head on her paws. _‘I am fine.’_

 

“You don’t look it. You look troubled and...” She hesitated. “Well, you look sad.” Ferin stiffened, shifting to stand and move away. “Oh please, I am sorry if I offended you. It’s not my place to pry, I shouldn't have said – ”

 

Ferin grumbled at her to stop her talking, sitting straight and digging her toes into the carpet in an attempt to feel its softness. It had been some time since her dark, thickened pads had been as pink and sensitive as a newborn pup’s. She never thought she would miss feeling things on her skin like she used to. _‘It’s alright. Do not concern yourself with that. It is not your fault I am less than sociable,’_ she finished wryly.

 

Some weeks back, Gandalf had asked Ferin to find Sivan to escort her to relative safety; The Shire. The young woman had been in some very unfortunate circumstances, and Gandalf felt it would be prudent to have someone provide protection along the way. That had been Ferin’s task.

Ferin thought the girl was generally lovely, and she was very adept at healing spells for a young Human Mage, but Ferin had had no desire for the cheerful exuberance the girl exhibited when they’d first met, let alone wished to tolerate it for the coming weeks from her village to the rolling hills of Hobbiton.

 

Sivan chattered incessantly about nonsensical things, and, of course, her magic; these were things of little interest to Ferin. After a week, though, it became soothing background noise. Ferin had quietly endured it, ‘talking’ little and only when it was required. She never told the young woman to stay quiet unless it was imperative to their safety. If anything, Sivan had kept her sane. The silence of her own thoughts were frightening at night, buzzing with the instinct to keep moving.

Being turned into a dog had been fine, initially. Ferin had kept her own thoughts, memories and personality, but the longer she spent in the form, the less control she had over its natural instincts.

Ferin’s ear twitched at the sigh the healer released, bringing her out of the thoughts of their recent travels. She watched the Mage fiddle with a strand of her hair before folding her hands into her lap, gazing down the hallway. There, Ferin could see Gandalf talking with Bilbo. Ferin remained silent, until Sivan seemed to come to a decision. The young woman turned back to her with a sad, but resigned, smile. “I am glad to have made your acquaintance, Ferin. Gandalf hasn't told me much about you, but from what he has, I am truly sorry. I wish you well, and I hope you find happiness some day.”

With that, she left Ferin in peace. In the back of Ferin’s mind, a conscience that would have been stronger in her youth, made her regret not being more open with the young woman. There was very little to say when saying goodbye to someone you hardly knew.

 

Ferin lingered by the fire, absently observing the flickering shadows along the rounded walls. When the Dwarves began to wander in from other parts of the house, she ignored them. They took their time settling, lighting their pipes in silence. The quiet of the house, and the thoughts of the looming journey ahead began to descend upon the room.

 

Thorin moved towards the fire, surprisingly careful to mind her in dim light, before leaning on the mantelpiece. Ferin began to feel a tense and entrancingly sorrowful atmosphere build.

 

The humming started softly, increasing in intensity when the others joined in, and then Thorin began to sing... and Ferin’s heart ached.

 

**

 

Thorin sat quietly, cushioned in the chair Balin had left earlier by the fire, the older Dwarf having made the couch his bed for the night. Ferin, eyes closed, had listened to them move around and chat quietly afterwards. Her exhaustion was catching up on her. They found various spots to sleep. Some took the floor nearby, others chairs, and one or two against the wall.

 

After a few minutes, there was blissful quiet. Ferin began to doze.

 

The snoring started soon after.

 

After an hour or two of attempting sleep, Ferin gave up. She could only hope this wasn’t a regular occurrence. Raising her head and contemplating where to wander off to at this hour, she was surprised when a smokey butterfly fluttered into the room. It headed in her direction, bouncing around her head, landing on her nose, and vanishing with a puff. The smell that lingered was sweet. Several more fluttered in from the direction of the front porch and they kept bothering her until Ferin irritably shook head to dispel them. At least the Wizard was subtle.

 

Standing and stretching, she contemplated the best way to get through a floor full of Dwarves. She’d have to keep to the edge, around by Thorin, and over Ori by the hallway.

 

Another butterfly wandered in, puffing into non-existence at her ear. _‘I am coming, old man. Keep your patience.’_

 

She slinked over Bofur’s foot and under Thorin’s outstretched arm, his fingers grazing along her spine when she did so, and hopped with as much care as possible over the knitted young Dwarf.

 

Once in the main hallway, she made her way to the door. The gap there was just enough for her to slip outside. There, the tall Wizard sat on the steps, smoking his pipe weed and looking out across Hobbiton.

 

“You took your time,” he said genially. She didn’t answer, choosing instead to sit beside him to take in the view by which he was so enamoured. Darkened hills and Hobbit holes stretched out before them. It was a peaceful night. A light haze of rain swept across the land, dampening her fur and the Wizard’s cloak.

 

“How was your trip with Sivan? Quite a lovely young thing.”

 

Ferin’s ears slowly flattened, her body sinking with tiredness. She was not in the mood for pleasant conversation, but that was the way of it. _‘She is fine. We made it here, mostly in one piece, and she seems happy.’_

“Mostly?”

 

Ferin looked away, stretching out her paw to gently poke a passing snail along the edge of the step. _‘I. Had a few...’_ she cleared her throat, _‘instances, of lapses in concentration.’_

 

Gandalf was quiet for a time, puffing on his pipe thoughtfully. It took her a moment to realise he was waiting for her to continue. He eyed her without turning his head and said, “Well, don’t beat around the bush about it now. You may look ashamed of yourself, but you seem to want to tell me.”

 

 _‘It is not shame I feel,’_ Ferin thought to him in sharp rebuke. She left the snail alone. The poor creature had sucked itself into its shell at the first touch in the hopes of survival, and Ferin didn’t have the heart to push it around further. _‘I am afraid, Gandalf.’_

 

He frowned, finally turning his head to look at her. “What do you fear?”

 

She turned her gaze back out to the peaceful hills. It would probably be the last she would see of it. _‘I am going to lose myself. Some day soon, I would think.’_

 

There was another moment of silence. “What has happened?” he asked carefully.

 

Ferin looked away again, shoulders tense and eyes searching for some focus, some distraction. _‘I... I am finding some darkened moments in my memory in the last few months. Sivan has told me... she has told me that a number of times I seemed to behave like a dog. Like a real dog; chasing, playing, and hunting. I remember a moment of rest on one occasion, and then I was suddenly in the middle of a copse of trees with a rabbit in my mouth.’_

 

“Hmm.” A plume of smoke curled around him slowly, the very substance looking thoughtful as well. “The spell is taking a firmer hold, then. I didn’t think it would be this quick.” He turned to her and took a few puffs of his pipe, thick brows furrowed in thought. “I worry that I should have tried to break it earlier, but I am unsure as to how it will affect you. It will be painful, that I can guarantee. I cannot be sure though...” he mused quietly. “I would like to wait until we are closer to Imladris where you would receive better care once the spell has been severed from you.”

 

Ferin sat straighter, ears pricked forward at the possibility of returning to herself very soon. _‘I wish to be myself again as soon as possible. If I must endure pain to do so, then I am willing.'_

 

“That is all well and good, but I need something from Lord Elrond in order to complete the reversal. Without knowing the details of the Witch’s intent, I am afraid I will be doing this quite blind, and I will need your assistance on this journey, much like Bilbo.”

 

Ferin sighed and stood, avoiding his silver gaze. _‘I am sorry that I couldn’t be more helpful. I was... quite drunk at the time. It was not one of my best moments.’_

Gandalf smiled, leaning back to finish his pipe. “It’s quite alright, my dear. There would be no adventure in life if troubles did not find us.”

 

Ferin said nothing, quietly retreating inside to work her way back through the hallway and over Ori, who was now sprawled out on the carpet, an arm flung over his eyes.

 

When she passed under Thorin’s hand once more, the fingers tightened on her fur unexpectedly. It was not painful, but the firm pressure made her pause. Lifting her gaze, she met his steely eyes, heavy and burdened by sleepless nights and restless thoughts.

 

Nothing was said or exchanged in any way, but he seemed to find something in her gaze. His fingers relaxed, running along her back when she slowly moved away towards the fire.

 

When she finally found sleep, her dreams were filled with fire and regrets.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rich Text can be a pain. All mistakes are mine, and I apologise, but sure what can you do? Hope you enjoyed it, and thank you for reading and leaving kudos. 
> 
> Much love,
> 
> ZeB xx


	3. Greetings Vala

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The journey begins. Old friends meet along the way.

Cool air whispered across her nose. Bird song fluttered in to tickle her ears. With a quiet inhale, Ferin dragged open her heavy eyes. Exhausted by nightmares during the night, she sleepily took in the twilight-darkened room. The sun had not yet risen. Lifting her head, she lazily took in the snoring Dwarves around her. The fire had been reduced to a dull smoulder.

Gandalf silently appeared at an archway. Gently grasping his robes, he manoeuvred around the sleeping company to wake Thorin. The Dwarf woke with slightly less violent start than Ferin would have imagined.

"Time to move on, I think," the Wizard intoned quietly, before meandering his way through the bodies once more to begin waking the others.

Ferin stood quietly. Stiff and sore, Ferin stretched slowly in an effort to ease her body's aches. A final, wide yawn and shake to ruffle her fur, and she was as ready as she would ever be at this horrid time of day.

 _Perhaps there were leftovers_   _for breakfast,_ she thought. Striding towards the pantry, Ferin found Bofur and Bombur loading up the remaining food for the journey. The pickings were meagre after the feast last night.

Balin appeared, leaving down a set of coins on a cabinet. Ferin sniffed at them, counting the Dwarven rendered metal to be enough to refill Bilbo's entire pantry, with a little to spare.

"It's not much," Balin whispered, winking at her, "but I'd wager it will cover expenses."

The Dwarf made his way elsewhere, and Ferin was left wondering what to think of his humility. After a few moments absently watching the others, Ferin realised there was little for her to contribute, so she turned and ventured out into the brisk morning air. The fresh scent of rain permeated everything, awakening her senses.

Sivan emerged just behind her. The first of the suns rays were just peaking over the horizon, touching the tops of the hills. Flowers swayed in a gentle breeze, the grass glistened with fresh dew, and the lake glimmered, still, bar the gentle glide of a bird over its surface.

"Oh, now this is a lovely view," Sivan commented wistfully. "And I'll be able to enjoy it in the coming weeks without fear of..." The young Mage smiled tightly, shaking her head as if to dispel her thoughts.

Ferin could only imagine what they might be. Instead of engaging her, Ferin just sent an agreeing hum across the spelled link they shared.

Sivan adjusted her staff, moving to one side to let some of the others slip through the door to gather at the end of the garden. She looked down at Ferin when there was a lull between Dwarves. "Will you be alright?"

Ferin sat, tail curled around her. ' _I_   _will be fine, Sivan. You needn't worry so much.'_

"I know," the young Mage whispered, bowing a little lower, eyes searching for anyone who may overhear. Another few Dwarves left the house, each nodding to Sivan respectfully. She returned the gesture, before leaning lower still to converse with Ferin. "But it is in my nature. You are the only woman in the company of fourteen, possibly fifteen if Master Bilbo changes his mind, and you..." She hesitated. "How will you control yourself with your mind vanishing unpredictably?"

' _I do not mind the company of men,'_  Ferin said simply, watching as the last, Thorin, passed them. He frowned at Sivan's hunched over posture, stopping short of leaving doorway. Glancing between the two, he began to look suspicious. Ferin watched him silently, almost daring him to voice his concerns that a young Mage and dog were potentially conspiring on a Hobbits front porch. Sivan, oblivious to his concern, waved a farewell and safe journey to him. Mollified, if confused, Thorin nodded once and moved on down to the others.

Ferin sighed. ' _I have no time to worry about the state of my mind at present. I will cross that bridge when I come to it.'_  Ferin looked up to the bright-faced young woman, eventually standing to tip her head down in an effort to be respectful. ' _Thank you for your company. Perhaps we'll meet again in better circumstances. Fare well Sivan, Daughter of Reuben. May your life be full of good fortune and kind words.'_

Sivan smiled, and Ferin could see it was a touch sad. "Fare well, Ferin. I have enjoyed your company and I wish you a happy, fulfilling life. You have my thanks, and I wish you all the luck this world has to give to you and your companions on your journey."

Ferin thanked her and turned to jog down the steps. Bofur held open the gate for her, having remained behind when the others began to forge ahead to the Inn in Bree for their effects.

The Dwarf sighed a little forlornly, throwing an arm over her shoulders as he had done so yesterday. His hand slapped her on the opposite shoulder in a gesture of camaraderie. He sighed again, glancing back once to wave to Sivan and take in the Hobbit home of Bilbo Baggins. Sivan had closed the door, and stood now at the top of the road. She would go her own way, once she knew what that was. "Do you think he'll come, lass? Will we have a burglar to help us?"

Ferin, unable to voice her thoughts that perhaps the Hobbit would change his mind, shook out her fur in an effort to jostle him, and padded ahead in the hopes of avoiding conversation. It was too early still, and they had a long way to go. There was plenty of time for maudlin thoughts.

"Oi!" he laughed, picking up his pace to catch up. "No need to be cheeky!"

She huffed at him, slowing when she reached the others. He caught up and slung his arm over her once more. Sensing that this would become a habit, Ferin allowed it for the moment. His arm was heavy, a weight she rarely felt when in this form. It had been a very long time since anyone had willingly chosen to be near her.

Spirits picked up after a few minutes of walking. The party of Dwarves, a dog, and one Wizard brightened with the sunshine cresting over the rest of Hobbiton and the path to Bree.

When they reached the Inn, a little muddied from the path and rain the previous night, the troupe bought breakfast. Gandalf had tried to coerce the waitress to allow Ferin entry, but her scarred appearance and sheer size had deterred the woman. With wide eyes, but a demeanour too used to rough characters around these parts, she told him, "Too dangerous if she decides to act up. Sorry, but she'll 'ave to wait outside."

"Ah, but she is a guardian to our companions. She would only fret outside for the duration of our meal. She will cause no trouble, I assure you."

The waitress, plump and much shorter than the Wizard, eyed Ferin dubiously for several moments. Ferin pricked her ears forward and wagged the tip of her tail in an effort to appease the older woman. She was hungry, and not above making a few patrons nervous as her morning entertainment. Finally the woman sighed. "Fine. Any trouble and you're all out."

Gandalf smiled, nodded and urged Ferin towards Thorin. "The lesser evil of our rowdy companions," he said cheerfully. The others had gathered a few tables together to form a long table in one corner, and after several curious, and very wary stares in her direction, Ferin slipped around the few clientele that were up at this hour to arrive by Thorin's side.

Halfway through breakfast, Ferin was starting to feel grateful for Gandalf's insistence. She was only thankful it was nowhere near as bad as it had been in Bilbo's. Thorin, reserved and surprisingly wary, fed her parts of his own breakfast, and for a second time, Ferin wondered at his meagre meal. He only ate a fraction of what his cohorts could put away and he shared it like he had plenty to do so.

It wasn't until some of the early crowd shifted to allow more in to partake in the morning meal of the Inn, that Ferin could see why Thorin was wary. A large, burly fellow, scarred and with an odorous scent that permeated the building, was staring intensely at the group, but even more so at Thorin.

' _Gandalf,_ ' she called, keen eyes remaining on the stranger.

' _Yes, my dear,'_  he answered, focusing on his meal to avoid suspicion.

' _There is a bounty hunter in this Inn.'_

The Wizard paused at her seemingly casual remark, fork partway into his mouth with a generous helping of egg and sausage. He finished the journey and responded, ' _Thorin has a bounty on his head.'_

The hunter drained the last of his mug before standing slowly, eyes never leaving the leader of their company. She narrowed her eyes. ' _Is he foolish enough to attempt to gain his prize in broad daylight, with children here?'_

' _He has tried before with another bounty hunter. A few weeks ago when Thorin was alone. Take care, now,'_  Gandalf warned, not ceasing his efforts to finish his meal, but eyeing the area around them with more caution.

Quickly assessing the threat, Ferin realised that the man did not seem to give one whit about anything around him. She also realised that no one would have warning but for herself and Gandalf, and that Thorin would be pressed for space against one side of the Inn as they all were.

The man, though large, quietly moved through a few patrons. His hand came to rest on the hilt of his sword. Ferin, firmly between the man and Thorin, stood decisively. The hair along her back rose stiffly, and she bowed her head, pressing her ears flat to her skull. A deep breath, a curl of her lip, and she released a low, vicious growl.

The table froze. The sudden cessation of noise from the Dwarves alerted the rest of the Inn. A silence fell like a sudden piercing pain to the ear. The hunter stopped, eyes now fixed on her. Ferin snapped a bark, and growled again, mouth open and teeth bared. She took a step forward. Those at nearby tables backed away in their chairs, freeing the space between her and the hunter.

"I suggest you leave," Gandalf said amicably to the man, pointing a full forkful of pudding at the man, before popping it into his mouth. "There are thirteen Dwarves, a dog that wants to see how you taste, and a Wizard here, my boy." His darkened gaze flicked up from his meal. "Let it go."

Wisely, the man did so. Straightening, he walked around the tables slowly, giving them all a wide berth to exit with a final dark look. Satisfied, Gandalf cleared his plate with a final swipe of bread and rose. "I think it's time we move on, Master Dwarves. Shall we?"

**

Ferin waited patiently on a hay bale by the stables on the outskirts of Bree while the others tacked up their horses and provisions. She had been praised by each of them in turn when they passed her to collect a bridle or piece of tack. She had quietly endured their rough pats, only complaining once to Gandalf, for which the Wizard had claimed she had done it to herself.

Thorin had approached her at the end of it all with an assessing, quiet expression. A small frown drew his dark brows toward the thin bridge of his nose. He said nothing for a breath, and then moved away to the others.

When they were finished, they lead their ponies out to let them doze in the rising heat from the sun while they waited for their burglar.

When he didn't show, there was a quiet conversation, a few nods, and it was decided that moving on was the only option. A thought that they would take their time seemed to be an unspoken agreement. They were in no rush to leave the peaceful Shire.

Half an hour in, there was talk of bets on whether the Hobbit would show. Talk of what they would do with their winnings (should any of them actually win) turned into conversation about anything and everything; from tea to travels, and from clothing to weaponry. Ferin kept pace with the group on foot. She decided to broaden her duties to watching the group as a whole, which included several positions along the trail of ponies from back to front. Keeping a steady pace at the back was difficult, the laziest pony taking up the rear often tried to turn to greet her, leaving the poor Dwarf atop to curse her distraction. The middle was better, but it was often distracting to her when the young Durin brothers tried to engage her in play, throwing sticks and stones in an effort to entice her. Finally reaching her limit after an hour, Ferin loped ahead to Gandalf and Thorin, and attempted to stay there for the duration of time until they passed the edge of Bree.

Several times she had to keep along the grass to one side of the path to give Thorin's pony and Gandalf's horse a fair berth; equines were a terrible curious beast, and from as far back as Ferin could remember, they always took quite a liking to her.

Once, and only once, Thorin's nag nipped her playfully on the rump. Thorin pulled up his slack reins and nudged his pony back to focus. Gandalf chuckled. "Still having trouble with them?"

Ferin grunted, attempting to traverse the thinner grass verge as they came to several dotted areas of trees, the roots already beginning to invade onto the path.

Despite the irritations, it was strangely nice to have such company on a long journey. Ferin couldn't remember the last time she had been part of a group so large and so different from herself.

They had just made it to a high curve in the path when Ferin heard the first sounds of jingling straps. It preceded a sharp, "Wait! Wait!"

Everyone halted their ponies, and turned to see what the ruckus was about.

"I signed it!" Bilbo declared loudly with a large smile. His expression dropped when he realised how foolish he must look. Collecting himself, he continued, "I signed it," he said more calmly, handing it to a wry looking Balin.

A few quick look overs, and Balin nodded, satisfied that everything was in order. The older Dwarf folded up the parchment and smiled. "Welcome, Mister Baggins, to the company of Thorin Oakenshield."

The others released pleased cheers. Gandalf smiled in satisfaction.

Thorin spoke a resigned order, "Give him a pony."

There was sputtering and protests and a yelp of surprise and then they were on their way.

A small commotion followed. Gandalf looped around to the back to the new addition. Money was exchanged. So were a few choice grumblings, and a few triumphant shouts. Ferin ignored it, turning away to take the lead while the others sorted themselves out.

An hour passed easily. Body still stiff from her nights unrest and recent travels, Ferin pushed on to keep a steady pace beside the Wizard (now at the front once more) and their illustrious leader, Thorin. Ignoring the pain was easy. She had known what travelling with Gandalf would entail. Unfortunately, she couldn't stop herself panting with the exertion.

"Where is this Human woman, Gandalf?" Thorin asked, adjusting himself on his nag, before resting his hands on the pommel of his saddle, comfortable in his ponies' steady gait.

"Just up this hill, Master Oakenshield," he responded cheerfully over his shoulder, pointing up ahead with a tip of his staff. "We should come upon her in a few moments."

"And what skills has she to offer us?" Gloin inquired from his pony behind Thorin.

"Quite a few, I would say," the old Wizard chuckled. "Vala, daughter of Sinell, is quite strong. She wields a hand axe and sword, and leans more toward the wonderful use of brute strength over diplomacy. Quite a formidable foe in a skirmish."

Thorin didn't look convinced. Gandalf smiled down at Ferin. ' _I wonder what they'll think of her. They will be surprised, I'm sure,'_ he thought.

Ferin hummed in agreement, but said nothing more. She hadn't seen her friend in many years, and even though they had parted with no ill will towards each other, Ferin still wondered what Vala would think of her now. She was, most definitely, not the same person she had been.

Thorin watched the two of them strangely. Ferin wasn't too concerned. He would probably dismiss their interactions as the Wizards' own strangeness. "Why does the dog follow, then? Has she not served her purpose in her duty to that girl we left behind?"

"Hmm? Oh yes, she has, but Ferin here is also a companion to Vala. They are quite close."

Thorin looked down at the dog and frowned. "She seems to have a lot of companions."

Ferin huffed and shook out her coat in annoyance. ' _If I were myself, that would be highly insulting, and none of his business.'_

Gandalf laughed heartily. Thorin grunted in irritation. "Why is that funny?"

Gandalf, ignored him with a simple, "A private joke, is all."

They crested the top of the hill. A stocky woman covered in furs, heavy leather boots and weaponry, sitting astride a dark bay pony with several small packs across the little beast's shoulders awaited there. She sat tall, even though she was only an inch or two taller than Dwalin, and her dirty blonde hair was tied in a rough braid that fell to the middle of her back. Her sharp eyes, large nose and strong chin made her fearsome, but the broad grin and loud cheer at seeing her new companions ruined it.

"Good morning! How are you faring? I expected you to look like dogs dragged backwards through a bush from the merriments of the night before! I am disappointed!"

"Good morning, my dear! We fare as well as can be on the beginnings of our journey. I trust you are the same, if slightly better?"

"I am indeed, Mister Gandalf! I am indeed." Ferin loved Vala dearly, but she had forgotten how much of a morning person she was. So much enthusiasm, and they were only halfway through the day.

The heavy woman nudged her pony to join the rest of the progression, introducing herself to the others along the line, chatting amicably, before she went to greet the leader. "My apologies for not greeting you first, Master Oakenshield," she said, still grinning at her good fortune of new companions. "You did not seem receptive, by the sour look on your face."

There were several aborted chuckles from behind. Thorin scowled, readying himself for a sharp reply, but Vala spotted Ferin at last. "Ferin! Have you no greeting for me you silly thing?" she laughed.

Ferin flattened her ears down, hoping it would deter her friend. She had expected a little less bluster, but she should have known better. Vala had a very wry, crude, and opportunistic sense of humour.

Gandalf muttered something unintelligible. A feeling like the brush of thorns, light but deceptively sharp, scampered along Ferin's skull. It had been the same feeling when Gandalf had conversed with her initially, and when Ferin had found Sivan.

' _I greet you, old friend,'_  she thought loudly, when the feeling dissipated. Ferin kept her eyes forward, effectively looking like she had ignored her.

"Ah, don't be so sore! We've not seen each other in some time. Come, you will ride with me instead of blundering about on those skinny legs of yours!"

' _Blundering abo – '_

There was a dull thud of hooves, and before Ferin could escape, her scruff was snagged and she was deposited on the back of Vala's pony with an undignified yelp. "There's a girl." Vala glanced over her shoulder to see what could only be described as a much put out dog. "Oh, cheer up! I know you don't like horses much, but he's a good lad. Not a bother on him, hey, Dob?" The pony nickered, tossing his head happily.

Perching precariously on a wobbling backside, Ferin flattened her ears further, glaring at the amused Dwarf across from her. Thorin did not show it clearly, but she could see it in his eyes and the twitch of his mouth.

' _You will pay for this my friend,'_ she growled toward Vala. ' _Pay for this in spades.'_

Vala laughed before striking up a rather loud conversation with the Wizard.

Ferin continued her balancing act for the remainder of the day; uphill (horrible business) and down, ducking low hanging branches when passing through small areas of forest and finally along a path to a clearing just off to one side.

By the end of it, Ferin was feeling decidedly ill. She leapt down immediately when Dob halted, and loped off the allow the contents of her stomach to be released onto the grass. Fortunately, there wasn't much to come up, but it didn't stop Ferin groaning at her heaving abdomen. There was a commotion of footsteps behind her, a crack of a twig, and suddenly a startled rabbit shot off into the woods.

"Oi! Kili, get it!"

Kili, who had been lumbering into the trees behind her, had already fired off an arrow. The rabbit darted behind a fallen trunk, the arrow  _thunking_  into the wood.

Ferin, through a burning instinct, shot after it. It turned left and right, leaping over logs, and slipping through branches and roots, kicking up leaf litter and dirt with sharp turns and a panicked scamper.

Her toes spread easily with each landing, curling into the earth for grip. Her tail swung in various patterns to balance the shifting weight, muscles straining to keep up and keep her steady. The little prey gave a mighty leap off a rock, bursting through the bushes into the camp. The roundest Dwarf, bent over his pack for something she couldn't see, provided perfect leverage. Pushing off his back, Ferin soared over the hatted one by a newly lit fire, landing in a run to cut off its escape. The blonde one who had shouted for pursuit was laughing, banking around to her left to round it towards her.

"Get it!" he cried with a smile. The dark haired one who'd fired the arrow ran around to her right in case it slipped by, but she wouldn't let it. No, this was her kill. Her –

Ferin came back to herself, chest heaving and mouth full. The Dwarves around her were cheering, the young brothers slapping her side.

"Well done!"

"A fine hunter!" someone said.

"That was a bloody good catch!" Dori praised.

"Don't praise a thing that's doing what it's supposed to," Dwalin grumbled.

Chest heaving, jaw tight, and eyes wide, Ferin stood so still her muscles shook.

Vala approached her warily. There was no delight on her face, only concern. "Ferin?"

Ferin dropped the rabbit slowly, the limp little creature flopping to one side onto the grass. Bofur picked it up quickly, holding it proudly by the ears to the others. "A fine feast for our first proper meal of the journey."

Vala gently brushed her ear, but Ferin only felt cold. "Are you alright?"

' _No. No, I am not,'_  Ferin responded softly. Finally registering her friends concern, Ferin sighed. ' _But I will be. Go enjoy your meal, and set up your bed.'_

"I don't want to leave you on your own."

' _It's fine.'_ Another deep breath. ' _I will be fine._ ' After a moment, Vala turned away, and Ferin wondered if she was trying to convince herself or Vala. Sighing, she walked over to an overwhelmed looking Bilbo, and curled up beside him.

Gandalf tried to diffuse the merry situation, diverting the Dwarves attention with stories and suggestions for the camp. Ferin was grateful, but weariness crept along her when the sun began to set. For a time, she slept.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Unfortunately, due to this being written so long ago now, it's hard for me to edit this to the quality it needs and deserves. I don't have the time or inclination to rewrite it from scratch, so I apologise for mistakes and general issues that arise with the editing. Most of this I have to do on my lonesome, as life gets in the way for myself and my beta. Thanks for bearing with me and I hope it's still enjoyable. ZeB xx


	4. A Scream in the Night

The first few days, Ferin kept her silence. Vala and Gandalf had tried to engage her, but after her stilted conversation of one-syllable answers, they allowed her the peace she craved. She had not ridden with Vala again, legs and stomach unable to survive the rolling gait of the happy pony, Dob. The consequences of this was exhaustion at the end of each day but as a positive, it was enough to keep her from hunting again.

They passed through green lands, trekked along small rivers and up hills, cresting over the tops to continue onwards through surrounding woods. She would rest most nights by Bilbo, the Hobbit usually silent in her presence. He seemed to be wary of her, but he was even more wary of the others. They often ignored him, which Ferin had guiltily taken advantage of, and mocked him in back-handed ways. He took it well enough, but she could see the strain of false cheer in his features, could feel the tension in his form at the thought of what the Dwarves could possibly do. He was so very alone in this journey. There was no one but Gandalf and Vala to engage him in conversation to learn about Hobbits, or indeed, about himself as a person.

By the fourth night, Ferin did not feel so guilty. She found her choice had changed from desiring the fallout of his isolation, to finding that she preferred his quiet companionship. He seemed to accept her readily enough, waking often in the night to check that she was there, and that it wasn't some horrible dream.

When they reached the craggy outcropping several miles from Weathertop hills on the sixth night, Ferin had taken to remaining by his side entirely.

The others began to set up camp. Ferin found a spot to rest by the Bilbo and the ponies. Bilbo was untacking his own beast, the little female quite content with her burden. Dob, whom Vala had released earlier moved to stand beside them, taken with Mertle, Bilbo, and Ferin alike. He pressed close to Ferin with a small series of snuffles. Ferin didn't have the inclination to move. ' _Go away, beast.'_ Although her words seemed unfair, Vala would call her tone fond. Dob didn't listen. He nickered softly, bending to nuzzle her ears in apology. Ferin sighed, tolerating the pony's affection. ' _I am glad to see you too, and I am fine.'_

He seemed satisfied with that, moving away to graze. Vala approached to collect her pack from his saddle nearby.

"Alright?" the larger woman asked surreptitiously, bending her head to avoid Bilbo's gaze. The Hobbit gave a thin, but genuine smile to Vala, and hesitantly moved away to join the others.

Ferin chuckled ruefully. ' _I am for the moment. You have my apologies for being sullen. We have not seen each other for many years, and - '_

Vala laughed softly, slapping her gently on the back. "You have no need to worry. People change, I understand. You have been through much, and perhaps one day you'll tell me. I am just glad that you are not entirely alone here, and that you have chosen Bilbo for company. I dare say Gandalf would agree that you need each other at this time. I am not stuck with the newfound idea that you are sociable, and poor Mister Baggins doesn't seem to know what is expected of him." With a nod towards the company, Vala continued, "Join us further in and rest yourself. No need to stay with the ponies. You know I don't like you on your own too long; you get broody."

Ferin huffed. ' _Broody?'_  Vala walked away to the others with a smile to receive her helping of the food, and Ferin followed, settling on a soft patch of earth beside the Hobbit. Bilbo sat on a little rock perch, hands upon his knees, looking entirely out of place. When she appeared, he began glancing at her furtively now and again.

"She will not harm you, Bilbo," Vala called, smiling as she took her broth from Bombur. She wandered over in their direction. "If anything, she seems to have taken to you quite well. You're not suddenly afraid of her now, hmm?"

Ferin was only glad he didn't have his own bowl of hot stew when Vala gave him a hearty slap on the back for his worry. The poor Hobbit pitched forward, nearly off his rock, but he recovered well, taking his own bowl from Bofur when he straightened.

"I, um..." he started, fidgeting in his seat.

Vala's expression instantly changed. "Ah." She drew out the word. "You're curious about her."

"Well, it's just – she has a lot of scars."

Vala took small mouthful of the hot stew, swallowing before, "And that worries you?"

"Seen a fair few battles with you, has she?" asked Nori.

"Aye, she has."

"Does she lick the enemy to death?" snorted Dwalin, who was busy cleaning his weapons. His empty bowl sat by his ankle.

"Oh! Does she leap at the enemy, fangs bared and ready to sink into the thick hide of an Orc?" asked an excited Ori, leaning forward and brandishing his spoon like a weapon, his other hand curled into a claw.

"Well – "

"She probably gives lots of cuddles, wagging that fluffy tail of hers," laughed Kili, who was beginning to whittle a branch.

"She did quite well with the rabbit the other night," Fili said thoughtfully.

"Aye, but she hasn't caught anything since," Dwalin added with a glare.

"She's quite good in battle, I'll have you know," Vala said sternly, frowning at the groups jesting of her friend. "She's earned those scars."

"Oh, aye?" Dwalin again. He paused in his sharpening, leaning down on one elbow to point the whetstone at Ferin. "How did she get that one on her back then; the large one from shoulder to hip?" He gestured to a slightly buried scar in Ferin's coat, starting from her left shoulder blade to her right hip; a scar she'd received from someone behind her, arching his blade in an upward stroke.

Unfortunately, that had been when she had been in her own form, long before she had been turned into a dog. Vala was a good storyteller, but only if the stories were true. She had never been apt at lying on the spot, believing false storytelling to be a waste. Why tell tall tales when the real ones were more exciting?

"Well, she – " She stopped, faltering for a moment. Ferin shook her head.

"She was fighting a Warg," Gandalf interrupted, settling himself near the fire against a large flat boulder behind him. "With an Orc on its back."

 _Oh, no_ , thought Ferin.  _Don't let the wizard make it up._

"A Warg?" Ori said in awe. "How did she survive?"

"Well, she ran under the Warg, biting at its legs to bring it down. She did so, but not before the Orc had already run his terrible blade down her back."

Dwalin didn't look too convinced. It was coming from the Wizard after all. Tall tales and embellishments. "She is large for a dog," he conceded, "but not large enough to take on a Warg  _and_ an Orc, I'd wager."

"Ah, well," Gandalf said, a little flustered. "I am adept at a great many spells, Master Dwarf. One to make her larger was but a simple thing. The Warg and Orc were not alone after all. They attacked a village of Men, and we were passing through."

Truthfully, it had been an attack of Men on a village of other Men. They had been outnumbered, Gandalf had arrived almost too late, and Vala sustained a fractured shoulder blade from the blow of a smithy's hammer. The feud was short lived, and a truce had been forged. When they had recovered some days later, they heard the tale of two families refusing to allow their offspring to marry, thinking the other less worthy. Gandalf had seen to the truce and they had left soon after.

Dwalin narrowed his eyes. "And the burn on her foreleg?"

"Aren't you perceptive, Mister Dwalin?" Vala said, her tone tight, and body tense. He had no right to be asking these questions. Ferin had no way of defending her honour, and Vala was getting annoyed that it had to be defended in the first place. The glare the woman focused on him did not go unchallenged, for he glared in return, though neither of them moved to engage in anything else. Ferin was grateful.

"Ferin is quite an intelligent creature," Gandalf said amiably, lighting his pipe and ignoring the tension between the two.

"She is a  _dog_ ," Thorin said, as if it was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard in his long life. "She does tricks, and plays fetch."

"Aye, and rolls over," added Fili.

"And sits and gives paw," said Kili, chuckling with his brother.

"No, she doesn't," Dori added, remembering the second night he'd tried to engage her into doing some tricks. Gandalf had carefully warned him away. She had growled at the Dwarf, annoyed by his sudden need to see her perform like an ordinary animal.

"What honour would she receive fighting in battle? What tales could she tell?" Oin spoke up, frowning in disbelief.

Ferin lowered her head to the earth with a sigh. This was not the first time she had been questioned like this, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. She had been an outcast even when she had been a woman. Having her honour called into question as a dog was actually less derogatory.

"They are loyal and good companions," Gandalf responded, not deterred by Thorin's increasing ire at the conversation, and giving the brothers and Oin a disapproving look over the bowl of his pipe.

"She has scars to prove her survival in this world, Master Dwarf," Vala growled at the Prince, having finally managed to tear herself away from her staring contest with Dwalin. "That should be enough of a testament to her bravery and perseverance despite her  _being a dog._  There are few beings in this world I could count on as a friend and companion, and I'm glad I can count Ferin as one of them."

"Easy lass," Balin said, leaning forward from his perch on a log and holding out his hands in a placating gesture. "I have no doubt about that. I think we've just had a long day and need some rest. How about we try and turn in, hmm?"

The group reluctantly agreed after several tense minutes, each moving off to their own space.

Ferin watched as everyone found a spot to sleep. Fili and Kili stayed up for first watch. From her peripherals, Ferin could see the little Hobbit staring at her. She wondered what he was thinking.

"Did you really fight a Warg and Orc?" he asked her quietly, and she could tell he was not really expecting much of a response by his embarrassment as soon as the question left his mouth.

Lifting her head, Ferin regarded him quietly. Whatever way he saw her in the firelight seemed to frighten him, so she ducked her head with a soft whine. When he calmed, she slipped her nose under his hand. He was so stunned that he continued up to place it on her head, patting the space between her ears twice before he consciously thought of it. A familiar sensation ran over her shoulders and up her neck.

' _I will not harm you, Bilbo Baggins,'_ she intoned softly, with a silent thanks to Gandalf. ' _I promise you that.'_

Ferin stood and moved away from the gaping Hobbit, unwilling to overwhelm the poor man any more. She wondered if she had frightened him off her company altogether. Finding herself near Thorin's place of quiet, she leapt up onto a flat expanse of spongy moss near the Dwarf Prince to lie down towards the open lands around them, keeping watch.

 

**

 

Bilbo stood quietly, shuffling off to his own bed roll, his mind curiously blank at the encounter. He wasn't surprised to find sleep elusive, but he tried anyway.

He never noticed the thoughtful look on the Wizard who had sat behind him throughout the exchange. And he had never noticed that it was Gandalf's spell that had fluttered up into his head that had allowed Ferin to speak to him.

 

**

 

Ferin swept her gaze back and forth, eyes keen in the moonlit landscape of the Weathertop hills to the North, ears trying to pick up anything amiss under all the snoring. It was difficult.

A rustling sound, a few whispered words, and a crunching of an apple brought her attention to Bilbo over by Myrtle. She was not surprised that he couldn't sleep. The wildness that surrounded them now had only a shadow of the tame Shire, and the lands would become harsher still.

 _Didn't mean you had to make it worse for the poor man, talking to him like you did,_ she thought regretfully. She just hoped he was good at keeping secrets.

A soft mumbling sound and an almost silent intake of breath, made her turn her head towards Thorin. He remained asleep, his expression troubled. Sitting upright against a long rock face looked incredibly uncomfortable. There was no doubt that he would get a terrible cramp come morning, and it'll probably put him in an even fouler mood than he had been already.

A terrible cry sounded out in the distance. Ferin tensed, standing cautiously to rove her eyes along the tree line some miles across the cliffs. That sound was too close. Several more followed.  _Orcs should not be out this far_ , she thought.

"What was that?" Bilbo asked fretfully by Myrtle.

"Orcs," Kili said soberly, gazing out towards the sound.

Bilbo tip toed quickly to the boys. "Orcs?"

Thorin startled swiftly out of sleep in her periphery, but Ferin ignored him, edging closer to the edge in an attempt at finding the terrible creatures. The moss parted too easily under her pads, and she lost her footing –

Only for Thorin to grab her roughly by the scruff of the neck to pull her backwards. "Don't be so eager for a fight," he said gruffly, letting go of her just as quickly. She swiftly backed up to a safer part of the outcropping, heart pounding at her mistake.

"Throat cutters," Fili was saying, playing with his pipe. "There'll be dozens of them out there. The lowlands are crawling with them."

"They strike in the wee small hours when everyone's asleep," Kili continued, warming to the game. "Quick and quiet, no screams... just lots of blood."

Bilbo turned away to look out at the land nervously, and Kili turned to his brother with a smile. They chuckled.

"You think that's funny?" Thorin said in slight disbelief. "You think a night raid by Orcs is a joke?"

"That is a fool's death," Vala commented lowly, eyes searching out where Ferin had been watching. She had risen silently at the first screech. "Those who jest about such things, often come to their end by it."

They looked sufficiently chastised. "We didn't mean anything by it," Kili said quietly.

"No, you didn't. You know  _nothing_ of the world." Thorin stalked away from them.

"Don't mind him, laddie," Balin said, smiling in sympathy to the brothers. "Thorin has more cause than most to hate Orcs."

In the crisp, small hours of the morning, Balin told the story of the Battle of Azanulbizar, where Thorin had faced Azog, the Pale Orc. He told of the fire of battle, the loss of their will to continue, and of a lone Prince that rendered the Defilers arm in vengeance of his grandfather and father.

Ferin had heard the story many, many years ago. It had been told from the point of view of a grieving Dwarf who'd begun to go half mad with drink at the loss of his kin. She had never heard Balin's tale, so raw and ingrained in his memory, that Ferin could have believed it had happened only yesterday. The others were wide awake at Balin's retelling, standing together in awe of their leader.

Bilbo, sitting near the fire, arms wrapped around his knees as he digested the tale spoke up, "And the Pale Orc? What happened to him?"

Thorin strode back to his place, through the space his men had left him. "He slunk back into the hole from whence he came. That  _filth_  died of his wounds long ago."

Ferin did not miss the look Balin and Gandalf exchanged.

The others moved to settle back into sleep for the remainder of the night, heads filled with tales of battle long passed.

' _I do not like that look, Gandalf,'_  Ferin called across the fire.

' _Indeed,'_  he responded, faintly. ' _I suspect our infamous enemy may be closer than we think.'_  He hummed, puffing on his pipe in thought, grey eyes cast out past their perch.

' _They should not be this close at all. Not to the Shire. Would they invade such a place?'_

He was quiet for so long, she thought he wouldn't respond. ' _Let us hope not.'_

She knew by his low tone that there would be no more from him tonight, so she turned to look out once more in the hopes of spotting anything of significance. A light breeze wafted over, but there was no odorous scent to help her. If they were there, she would not know it.

"Are you so eager to face those out there, you stand guard when we have a night watch?" Thorin asked lowly. He had reclaimed his spot by the flat stone, turning his eyes from her to own his search of the lands below. This was the first time he had acknowledged her properly.

Ferin slowly made her way towards him, paws silent on the damp moss beneath her. Thorin stiffened. She paused, ear twitching at the sounds around her. Fixing her gaze to his, she continued, hoping he wouldn't feel the need to lash out. Finally, when she was beside him, she lay on a flat rock to his left, paws hanging over the edge.

He watched her silently for a moment, assessing what, she did not know. "Perhaps you are suited for battle," he said.

She released a tired sigh, lowering her head to rest over her paws. She looked over to the others, wondering if she would be helpful to them at all. Here they had a Wizard and a leader. What use was a dog?

' _I am long tired of battle,'_  she thought to him softly. ' _But I am good for nothing else.'_

They rested side by side for the night, quiet and lost in thought of a past that was still healing.


	5. Rain

They travelled for another eleven days before a continuous torrent of rain rolled over the company. Spirits had been high despite the land turning grey. but as the green pastures became forests, and the forests began to thin out to line wide paths of hard rock, the chatter began to dull. Ferin couldn't participate in the storytelling that had been rampant with the good weather, but she enjoyed learning about her travelling companions.

Dori fussed over Ori, the young writer, like a mother hen. Ori patiently endured it for the majority of the time, but sometimes managed to slip out of his older brother's grasp to continue documenting their tale in a quiet spot elsewhere.

Nori, whom she learned was very talented at thievery, did not get along with his older brother Dori, but praised Ori for his talent without fail.

Bombur had a family so large, they would have had a hard time fitting in Bilbo's home, despite its grand size. He was also an excellent cook. He had obviously shared his skills with his older brother Bofur, whom Ferin learned was a musician and toymaker with their cousin Bifur, when he wasn't a minor in the Blue Mountains.

Bofur was a merry Dwarf, often the first to tell tales or begin a song. His laughter was contagious, but often focused on teasing or tormenting his younger brother. He included Bilbo many a time, but after the first few days, Ferin began to see it as a friendly teasing, than the initial mockery it had been when he'd frightened Bilbo into a dead faint with tales of fire breathing Dragons.

Bifur didn't (or possibly couldn't) speak much Westron, instead grumbling what Ferin now knew as a mixture of Khuzdul and Iglishmêk, a form of Dwarven sign language. When Bofur explained the tale of how his cousin had received the axe, Ferin could only feel sorrow for the man he had once been.

Another day of travel had revealed Gloin to be superstitious. Anything and everything that could be taken as such, was a bad omen. He often tried to coerce the others to follow his practices to avoid bad luck, but most ignored it. Bofur had a word for the Dwarf's ideals, and Ferin would never repeat it in good company. Dwarven curse words had a lovely kick to them that many other races failed to achieve.

His brother, Oin, was a talented healer, and was often found asking Gandalf for tips to improve his trade since the Wizard travelled between the lands more than he. His stories, though he was enthusiastic to tell them, were often gruesome tales of illness or poor practices by others less competent than himself.

Balin was kind and sedate. His stories were as emotional and grand as the one he told of the Battle of Azanulbizar. There was always a lesson to be learned, or a point of view to be taken and understood. He took to Ferin just as quickly as Bofur had, giving her a pat or talking to her like she could understand what he was saying. He tried to encourage her to keep him company at odd times of the day, but Dwalin was nearby on most occasions. The large Dwarf was still suspicious of Ferin, watching her closely at every chance. Balin told her not to mind his thick-headed brother, but she knew to keep far away should the Dwarf think her a real threat.

Kili and Fili she avoided where possible. When not encouraging her to hunt, they tried to entice her play with them. A lot of it involved sticks or commands, and Ferin was only too happy when they gave up after three days to let them entice Bilbo into conversation. The Hobbit became quite flustered, but soon he was telling them about how Hobbit's lived, and the differences between the races suddenly became a topic that went on for days.

Bilbo had warmed to her soon after she had 'spoken' to him. Gandalf had allowed the spell to remain, and she found she quite liked hearing Bilbo talk about home. The journey was leagues from his usual comforts, so she would often sit or stay by his side during breaks in the day, asking him to describe his life, his home, his parents, and the neighbours.

He would talk for hours. The others questioned his sanity when they'd spotted him talking to her, but Gandalf had quickly, and amusedly, spun a small lie that Hobbits had a way with communicating with animals. Bilbo had been suitably mortified at the thought that Hobbits would have such a gift, but as the days had continued, and he'd grown more homesick, he would talk and talk and talk. Ferin would quietly listen, prompting questions to keep him on track should his thoughts stray too far into the forlorn.

Once or twice he had talked himself to sleep. Exhausted from the hardship of riding in a saddle for hours at a time, and lack of anything familiar in their campsites, he had talked to Ferin until the small hours of the morning. When he finally slept, Ferin settled into her own routine of sleeping at the edge of the group.

Thorin, surprisingly, she learned very little of. He ate very meagre meals compared to his companions, and kept a silent vigil more often than not, choosing to remain alone, even during the day. He conversed little, and when he did, he spoke little of himself. She suspected, at first, that he was just not sociable. That he thought himself above the others, and that they were only here to protect him until he could reclaim his home.

Near the end of the eleven days, just before the rain fell, Ferin decided that no, he wasn't a haughty Prince that saw himself as a King; he was a man who had spent so long surviving on his own, and providing for others, that he had left little for himself. It was in the quiet moments of the night that she would catch him watching over the company. He would guard Fili and Kili when they were too exhausted to notice. He would converse quietly with Balin, gaze flicking frequently out over the others while they rested. He made sure to sleep at the perimeter like Ferin, and would wake at the smallest of sounds, alert and ready. He gave orders quickly and efficiently, planning out everything they'd need in a few seconds of thought. He was wisely wary of Gandalf, and seemed to constantly be aware of the larger quest they had taken on.

He was always,  _always_  on guard. Relaxing seemed to be a foreign concept to him. It led her to wonder at his life since the loss of Erebor. Had he been alert, ready and tense for decades? She wasn't sure. It didn't really bear thinking about, but hadn't she been the same? Once a soldier, always a soldier, no matter your title.

When the rain came, it did not start lightly as they would have hoped, but poured down in torrential sheets before easing off into a constant, steady beat. It continued for four days and three nights, and they were all miserable in their own way. Bofur lamented his soggy pipe and drooping hat, while Oin tried to keep his hearing horn from acting like a funnel into his pocket. Dwalin scowled but wouldn't be defeated, staying silent and stoic, while Ori stared off into the trees, shoulders slumped, knitwear sodden. Bifur and Bombur kept shaking themselves out, much to the consternation of their ponies when the weight shifted unevenly, making walking in the mud even more difficult, while Fili and Kili kept making funny faces and gestures at the back to entertain themselves. Nori, Gloin, and Dori said nothing, ignoring it to the best of their ability. Poor Bilbo hunched his shoulders in vein, and Thorin just brooded, as if the rain had a personal vendetta. Vala didn't seem bothered at all. Neither did Dob. Which wasn't surprising considering most of him was covered in his riders furs.

Ferin slogged through the grey mud, lamenting the lost warmth of her fur. The cold was starting to run into her bones, but she kept on, entirely reluctant to give in to ride Dob.

Dori finally gave in, "Here, Mister Gandalf! Can't you do somethin' about this deluge?"

Gandalf raised an eyebrow, and turned slightly to call back, "'Tis raining, Master Dwarf. And it will continue to rain, until the rain is done! If you wish to change the weather of the world, you should find yourself another Wizard."

Dori pursed his lips, and rolled his eyes upward. He stayed stalwartly silent.

"Are there any?" asked Bilbo, a bit desperate to have a distraction, but curious all the same.

"What?"

"Other Wizards."

"There are five of us. The greatest of our Order is Saruman, The White. Then there are the two Blues..." He hesitated. "Do you know I've quite forgotten their names?"

"And who is the fifth?"

"Well, that would be Radagast, The Brown."

Bilbo couldn't resist. "Is he a great Wizard or is he... more like you?"

Ferin, who had been slightly ahead of Bilbo, had to stop, she was laughing so hard. Bilbo raised his eyebrows at her, but smiled. Gandalf ignored her. "I think he's a very great Wizard," he said, pointedly, before raising his eyebrows in reluctance. "In his own way. He's a gentle soul who prefers the company of animals to others. Keeps a watchful eye over the vast forest lands to the East. And a good thing too, for always Evil will look to find a foothold in this world."

With that, the company continued in silence. An hour or so later, they stopped for food and shelter. Turning off into the woods, they huddled under the lowest tree branches, unburdening their ponies in an effort to give them a break from the weight of the water on top of everything else. Delighted to be free for a time, the ponies grouped together for a doze under a large oak.

Ferin, fatigued from straining against the sucking power of muck, shook out her fur rather violently.

"Oi!" cried Nori, shielding his face from her barrage. "I wasn't looking for a bath just yet, thank you!"

Fur splayed out in all directions, Ferin ducked her head in apology, slinking off to find a dry spot. Now that they were out of the worst of it, the cold seeped in, causing her to shiver. Bofur didn't even bother with a fire, instead passing out some bread and cheese. After sneaking her some of the rabbit they had hunted yesterday, Vala gave Ferin a heavy pat and wandered off to talk to Balin. Dwalin, seated by his brother, tensed at her approach, but they settled into a reluctant chat. Vala and Dwalin had not gotten on since the staring contest back on that dreadful hill, but Ferin could see Balin encouraging them to get along, for their sake, as well as the company's. There had been a few skirmishes between them already. It had been more words than anything particularly violent, but everyone could see the tension there, and they did not want to be a part of it.

There was a patch of spongy moss by the edge of the group.  _Remarkably dry, by the looks of it_ , Ferin thought appreciatively.

Unfortunately, Thorin seemed to have spotted it as well. Halting as he claimed it, Ferin looked around for another. No luck. Gandalf caught her eye, raising a bushy eyebrow. A nod of encouragement towards Thorin.

' _There is no time like the present to make friends, my dear.'_

Ferin sighed. A particularly violent shiver made her decision for her.

Ducking her head low, Ferin slowly walked over to a wary Thorin. When he made no movement, invitation or otherwise, Ferin carefully, slowly, curled up by his side on the remnants of the dry patch. Tucking her nose under her tail, she began to drift off. The only thing keeping her from completely slipping into sleep was the constant vibration of her muscles.

There was a sudden darkness, and a flash of warmth that blanketed her entirely. Tensing, Ferin tried to figure out what it was. Several minutes passed, and it wasn't until a hand pressed against her damp fur, that she realised Thorin had thrown the end of his coat over her. His fingers reluctantly began to card through her fur. It took a longer amount of time than she would have thought, but eventually she uncurled a little, and found herself resting her head on his thigh, the warmth of his furred coat and calloused hand easing her into sleep.

 **

 She woke to a gentle rocking from a hand on her shoulder. Still half asleep, Ferin stood and followed the direction of the others. The morning was dull, the sun straining to break through the unforgiving clouds. Soon, they were on their way again.

This pattern continued until the rain stopped. They would stop for meals during the day, and rest at night under the trees while they were still in the surrounding forest. Ferin would stay by Thorin's side on the driest patch, keeping watch.

When the rain finally stopped, the Dwarves cheered, and Ferin returned to her routine of keeping pace with the ponies, varying her guard from front to back, and sleeping away from Thorin. Despite the company they kept at night, he had not spoken to her the entire time, so she thought it best not to continue when it was unnecessary.

**

The next day was long but enjoyable, because it was, most importantly,  _dry_. They made camp at the crest of a hill at the end of the day by an old abandoned house. Ferin took a scout of the perimeter while the others unpacked the ponies.

The area overlooking the expanse of land to the South East was clear. Green stretched out as far as the eye could see, and no scent carried along the wind to give her cause for concern. Turning her attention to the Northern portion of their camp, Ferin paused at the house. A scent lingered, faint, but cloying and thick. It spoke of foul things. Dark, and malicious, and just there... just underneath it, was a faint scent of Man...

"A farmer and his family used to live here," the Wizard said softly, roving his eyes over the remnants.

' _There is a scent here, Gandalf. Of Man and something else, something foul, but I don't know what it is. I have never encountered it before.'_

"Man?" He queried worriedly.

' _Yes. A few weeks old, perhaps less. It's in the walls, and just under the lining of grass and dust covering the floor.'_

"Something has been here."

Ferin cautiously tested the air, finding no duplicate scent, but the wind did not favour anything from the forest, so she was unsure. ' _They might still be. I cannot scent them on the wind. They could be further in the trees, unseen.'_

"Oh, dear," he murmured. He turned at Thorin's voice, where the Dwarf was instructing the others to start a fire. "I think it would be wiser to move on. We could make for the hidden valley."

Thorin strode over. "I have told you already, I will  _not_  go near that place."

Gandalf coughed rather violently, glancing alarmingly at Ferin. Feeling a growl rumble through her chest, Ferin stood straighter. ' _You did not tell me he was reluctant to go to the valley, Wizard.'_

' _I will get him there, do not worry,_ ' he sent her quickly, trying to keep his focus on Thorin.

' _I have to break my spell – '_

"Why not?" he directed forcefully at Thorin, ignoring her altogether. "The Elves could help us. We could get food. Rest. Advice!"

"I do not  _need_  their advice," Thorin intoned lowly, pacing across to what used to be the fireplace.

"We have a map we cannot read," he said enticingly. "Lord Elrond could help."

Ferin sat carefully, eyeing Thorin should he get physically violent with the Wizard. Best to be ready to get out of his way. She slid her gaze to the old man. ' _If this is your way of convincing him, remind me to never let you negotiate peace treaties. You'd have everyone up in arms before a contract would be drawn up.'_

' _An exaggeration,'_ he waved off dismissively. ' _Now hush, I think it will work.'_

"Help," Thorin said, quietly incredulous. "A Dragon attacks Erebor, what  _help_  came from the Elves?" Gandalf was silent at that remark. "Orcs plunder Moria, desecrate our sacred halls... The Elves looked on, and did  _nothing._ " He approached the Wizard with a quiet intensity. "You ask me to seek help from the very people who betrayed my grandfather, betrayed my father."

Gandalf bristled. "You are neither of them. I did not give you that map and key for you to hold onto the past!"

"I did not know they were yours to keep," Thorin growled in return, spitting the words out through gritted teeth to stave off curiosity, should his company overhear.

The wizard opened his mouth, closed it, and pursed his lips. He adjusted the grip on his staff and turned away, sending a sharp glare towards Ferin. She wisely kept silent. He stalked away from them, leaving Thorin to pace the stone floor.

Ferin sighed when Gandalf left the camp in a snit. No Wizard for a time, no spell to be broken due to the stubbornness of Dwarves, and no respite from watch tonight. A forceful blow of air through her nose, and she padded off towards the trees to finish her perimeter before the sun would set.

 **

 "Make yourself useful," Vala said when Ferin approached the fire on the last legs of scouting the area. Setting up her own place to sleep, Vala continued as she turned to look after Dob. "Bofur's gone to collect firewood."

' _I will, but keep an eye tonight. I do not think we are alone here.'_

Vala paused in removing Dob's saddle, frowning, but Nori wandered by, so she just nodded once. Ferin trotted off in the direction her friend had pointed without another word. Nosing the ground, she followed Bofur's trail of pipe smoke and spices into the trees, finding him easily.

"Ah, hello, lass! Grab a few of those over there." He nodded his head towards a few larger sticks to his right, while he collected some more. "They'll do nicely to hold the pot."

Ferin collected them in her mouth, and trotted behind as he made his way back to the camp.

 **

Chores accomplished just after the setting of the sun, everyone sat to enjoy their dinner. Bofur ladled a generous helping of stew into two bowls, dismissing Bilbo's worries about Gandalf. The Dwarf was right; he was a Wizard, and he would do as he chose regardless of the worry of his travelling companions. The Dwarf, seeing Bilbo's worry, casually dropped the bowls into the Hobbits hands and sent him off to find the boys.

Ferin, who had claimed a spot away from the fire, dozed lightly, ears pricked to pick up the smallest of sounds…

There was a strange feeling of being watched. Opening her eyes, she found Nori regarding her thoughtfully, his empty bowl on the grass by his ankle.

Picking up a stick that had not been needed for the fire, he waved it enticingly in front of her face with a smile, before tossing it away towards the far edge of the camp by the house. Ferin followed the motion, and stared in the direction it went, before returning her eyes to the Dwarf.

"You're supposed to fetch," he said encouragingly, helpfully pointing in the direction it had disappeared.

Vala began to shake beside her, ducking her head low to hide her smile. Ferin ignored her to continue staring incredulously at the red-haired Dwarf.

"You know, get the stick and bring it back?"

"It's a game," Ori added, not understanding why she wasn't fetching.

"If it didn't work with the lads," Bofur offered with a chuckle, "I don't see it working now."

"Do you not know how to play?" Oin asked, adjusting his ear horn to listen as if she could answer.

"She used to," Vala said, having finally controlled her sniggering. "But she became too battle worn and a bit of a –" She stopped suddenly, Ferin hearing the end of her sentence, ' _a bit of a drunk',_  which was true, but they all thought she was a dog, "– sombre little thing. 'Play' seems to have gotten lost along the way."

"Well that's not right," Dori said, to the surprise of nearly everyone. "Animals should play, it's in their nature."

Bifur suddenly gave Ferin a playful shove on the shoulder. Before she could recover from the strength of it, Bombur leaned forward to roughly unsettle the fur on her head. Vala, warming to the idea rather quickly - betrayer that she was, thought Ferin uncharitably - pulled playfully on her tail, and standing abruptly after so there would be no place to hide. Ferin leapt to her feet, and darted away to the right, only to be deterred by Ori who tried to grab her, and Bofur soon after, who laughed and chased her around.

For several minutes, Ferin, though not entirely angry, dashed left and right to avoid them, leaping over Oin and Gloin, and running around by Bombur and Balin to escape Ori's quick little hands. She had just skidded around Dwalin's thick paw to slip under Thorin's legs when she heard it; a faint cry from the trees that sounded familiar.

"Stop!" Thorin said firmly. The others ceased their merriment immediately. "What do you hear?"

She bolted for the trees, having heard Fili and Kili shouting about Bilbo and Trolls. The brothers burst through in a flurry of leaves and loud voices. Ferin took off into the forest. The others followed quickly.

The next moments where a bit of a blur. Ferin remembered running towards the light, paws digging into the dirt for traction, branches snapping in her wake, stinging across her sides.

She remembered spotting Bilbo, hanging by the legs in a Troll's thick grip.

The sounds grated on her ears; Trolls screaming in pain from the Dwarf's blades slicing into their hides, and the shouts and thumps of heavy hands and hammers hitting their mark.

She distinctly remembered using a log and the wide arms and legs of the Trolls to climb up and bite at their faces, barking to distract them and jar their hearing, and she remembered being snagged and thrown clear of the chaos, only to be struck by a meaty hand towards the back of the Trolls camp, where she spotted Bilbo attempting to free the ponies with a Troll-sized knife.

' _No, you fool! Get away!'_

It was too late. The ponies fled and drew the Troll's attention.

The sudden cessation of trolls lumbering about brought a halt to the chaos. Bilbo was held tightly by two of them, legs and arms gripped and ready to be pulled apart. Bilbo looked at Thorin, unable to communicate verbally the pure terror buried under his stunned expression.

"Lay down your arms! Or we'll rip his off."

 

*

*

_A/N: Thanks for sticking with me so far. Love you guys! ZeB xx_


	6. Back to Before

They were stripped, bound, bagged, and strapped to a roasting spit, ready to become a Troll's next meal. Ferin crept away for cover under a bramble nearby, hoping to go unnoticed. It was just a matter of waiting for opportunity.

It came sooner than she thought. The Trolls were resolute in ignoring the Dwarves' outraged shouts, allowing her to sneak around a boulder to her companions. Bilbo and Thorin both stilled at her presence. The others, yelling loudly, didn't notice her at all. Thorin was the closest, so she began to work the knots with her teeth, freezing and hunkering low anytime the Trolls turned in their direction.

Unfortunately, one of the lumbering beasts wandered over to poke at Bombur, testing his meatiness through the cloth. Bombur whimpered at the harsh treatment. The half-wit Troll smiled, gripping the bottom of the sack and dragging it away from the others.

Ferin quickly darted forward, barking to draw attention. She might be able to delay them for a moment.

The one that had been dragging Bombur released the Dwarf in fright when she appeared.

"Wha's that?" he asked in alarm, voice nasally and high-pitched. Narrowing his eyes, he suddenly shot out a hand to grab her, none too gently, in his fist, bringing her up close to his face. "Oi, this is the one that bit your nose, Bill!" he crowed.

"Stupid mutt," Bill growled, reaching over to take her. "Give it here, Tom, might make a nice starter."

Tom brought her closer to his chest. Ferin squirmed at the rotten smell. "No, get your own! I found it, this one's mine!"

"Will you two shu' up, I'm trying to think of a something nice to compliment the food!"

Ferin, suddenly forgotten in Tom's hand at the change of subject, squirmed fitfully when the high-voice one looked over at his companion. "Don't bother cookin' 'em. Let's just sit on 'em and squash them into jelly!" He moved towards the others, contemplating Bombur once more.

Ferin, starting to feel a little squashed herself, bit him hard on the thumb. He gave a yelp, flinging her into the side of a large rock.

There was only darkness after that.

 

**

 

Vala sighed, swiping a quick hand over her furred cloak before sweeping it through the air to settle on her shoulders. Having been one of the fortunate ones to get stuffed into a sack, her clothes were relatively clean and un-singed, but it didn't stop them smelling of Troll. It was the kind of smell that would linger too, she thought, sighing again. She clipped the clasp tightly, adjusted the axe hooked into her belt, and wandered over to the unconscious Ferin. Her friend had survived a blow to the head just as badly before - giving Vala cause to think she had some Dwarven heritage, much to Ferin's skepticism - so Vala was confident that she would be fine, if a little bruised and head-sore.

"You won't be pleased when you realise you missed the Trolls being turned to stone," Vala mused, crouching on her haunches to shake the dog awake. It had been a very interesting sight indeed, not something seen every day, least of all this far from mountain caves.

The dog stirred with a groan, raising her head in a daze. When she spotted Vala, Ferin shook her head. Vala smiled. "Good morning, sleepy head. You missed something incredible."

Vala's good cheer faltered when no forthcoming annoyed or disgruntled voice appeared in her head for her teasing comment. Frowning, she patted the dog's side tentatively. "Are you playing a trick?"

There was no answer. The dog rose after a moment or two, shifting on to her chest, before rising altogether. Another shake of her head, a yawn, and then a tentative wag of her tail. Vala, stunned when Ferin licked her hand, could only watch the dog trot off towards the others, tail increasing in speed and ears pricked.

"Ferin?" she called faintly, standing and watching the dog nearly run into Bofur in her enthusiasm, barking and running in circles for his attention. He laughed in delight, and bent to play with her.

"That must have been some bump on the head! Thought you said she didn't play!" he called to Vala, quickly picking up a stick and tossing it. Ferin bolted after it. When the dog returned, she pretended to play nice, allowing him to try and take it, before rushing off towards Thorin and Gandalf. Bofur laughed when Kili and Fili gave chase.

"Maybe all she needed was a bit of a knock on the head," Fili chuckled.

They were oblivious to Vala's growing dread. "No," she said faintly. "She doesn't, normally."

Vala could see Thorin's surprise when the Ferin ran up to him with a stick. She roo-ed at him in an attempt to get him play with her.

He frowned, grabbing the stick reflexively to stop it prodding him in the leg. "What's wrong with her?"

"Oh dear," Gandalf said, observing Ferin release the stick to their leader. She nosed his hand and spun in a circle, waiting for him to throw it. When he didn't, she circled him instead, pressing close and shoving her head under his hand for a pet.

"Ferin!" Vala shouted sternly, finally having her senses catch up for her to stalked towards her friend. "Ferin, snap out of it, this isn't amusing!"

"But, she's finally playing," Kili said, taking the stick from Thorin to give it a mighty throw into the trees. Ferin didn't follow, busy as she was looking for attention from the Dwarf Prince.

"Yes, why stop her?" asked Fili, laughing and trying to get the dogs attention with another stick. She paid no mind, whining fretfully until Thorin reluctantly gave in to her demands in an effort to calm her down.

"Because it isn't right," the larger woman snapped, wiping the smiles of the young brothers faces. They could finally see that she was worried.

"Vala," Gandalf began, placing a hand on the woman's shoulder. "We are going to see where the Trolls cave is located. Give her some time, and if she is not herself afterwards, I will try and bring her out of it. I'm afraid that will be the only thing I could do, at least until we reach somewhere safer."

"I – fine. Fine, but I will hold you to it! This has gone on long enough."

"Agreed."

 

**

 

Ferin was happy sitting beside the strange little creature. He gave wonderful scratches behind the ears. The dark place smelled of terrible things. It made her nervous. There was nothing of value to hunt in there, and there was no one else to mind the smallest of their pack but her, out here in the forest.

The little creature tried to talk to her, but Ferin was busy listening for danger to pay much attention. The pack leader had gone in with the old man that smelled like pipe weed, but they had yet to come out. Whining fretfully, she wagged her tail nervously, skin itching to follow them in. The large woman had been very specific though in her instructions to mind the little one, so she would wait.

When Leader emerged, she ran forward eagerly, licking at his hands in greeting, before circling the rest to ensure they were unharmed.

"What's she doing?" the hatted one asked, allowing her to sniff his boots. She was pleased when she got a scratch behind the ear for a job well done.

The large lady frowned down at her. Ferin dropped her ears and pressed close to Leader in an effort to escape discipline. Had she done something wrong? "She sees you all as part of her pack, now, I think. Thorin is pack leader, by the looks of it, and the rest of you a mix of ranks in her own mind."

"Uncle is the leader?" the dark haired pup asked. Ferin woofed in affirmative, padding forward to herd him back to his litter-mate in the middle of the group for safety. "Hey."

"And she didn't before?" Leader asked. Ferin quickly took stock of everyone, head-counting to find the littlest creature and the old man missing. When she whined and tried to track back to the cave, Leader grabbed her scruff. She immediately lowered herself at his feet, whining in apology. He released her slowly.

"Not as such, no." The large woman sighed, slumping to sit on a rock. "Her mind is not the same as it used to be. She has fits of... Well, I am not really sure how to describe it."

The quiet was shattered by a sudden burst of birds overhead.

Leader stood swiftly, and Ferin barked in warning. Faint, but heading this way, was a noise of rhythmic, but irregular thumps. "Something's coming!"

"Stay together," the old one called, appearing behind them. "Hurry now! Arm yourselves."

Ferin darted forward to keep ahead of the others, ready to defend. They stopped just past a collection of boulders for the best advantage.

"Ferin!" the large lady called sharply. "Stay back here!"

Ferin ignored her. A gentle push of a blade to her side, encouraged her to move left, and Leader stepped in her place. "Keep low."

She did so, ears twitching violently to pick out the direction of the terrible thing that was pounding towards them. There was a sudden cry of a voice, which heralded the arrival of a –

...large sled... being pulled by rabbits, and steered by a man in a brown robe. He came to an abrupt halt, shouting, "Thieves! Fire! Murder!"

Then he stopped, looking a little lost. Out of breath, he spied the Dwarves surrounding him with a distinct air of confusion.

"Radagast!" the old one greeted happily, sheathing his sword. "Radagast, The Brown." His tone that followed was wary, and a little bit displeased. "What on earth are you doing here?"

"I was looking for you, Gandalf. Something's wrong. Something's  _terribly_ wrong." He didn't elaborate.

"Yes?"

The others watched him warily as he attempted to remember what it was he wanted to say. "Just give me a minute." His shoulders slumped, and he threw his hands down despairingly. " _Oh!_ I had a thought and it – and now I've lost it, it was right there, on the tip of my tongue!"

The old one stared at him oddly, and the brown one amended, sticking out his tongue, "Oh! It's not a thought at all! It's a silly old – " the older one reached up to gently grasp what was on the flat of brown Wizards tongue, "- stick insect."

Ferin cocked her head to one side. She rather liked the brown one. Raising her nose to the air, she scented strange things that were distantly familiar. Somewhere she had been, perhaps, a very long time ago. There was a smell of earth there, and trees, and birds, with a hint of something ill that trailed in his wake. That one she didn't like at all.

"Bofur, keep her with you so she doesn't do anything stupid," Leader said lowly. The hatted one gently took a grasp of her scruff. Ferin wagged her tail, happy to have him by her side.

"Sorry, lass. Just being cautious."

After a few moments of the brown one trying to remember his thought, the old one had had enough. Waving off the other one to step away from the group, he lit his pipe to have a thoughtful puff.

"Um..." started the little creature of her pack, unsure how to start a friendly conversation with such a strange person. Fortunately, the brown one was more interested in her. The hatted one tightened his grip reflexively, pulling back to shield her before he really thought.

"Well, hello! Who do we have here?"

The large woman went to step forward in Ferin's defence, but Ferin saw no ill will in the man. If only the hatted one would let her go, she could say hello properly. She woofed at him, dropping her weight into the hatted ones grip in an effort to encourage him to let go. Eventually he cleared his throat and released her.

She immediately bounded towards the brown man to sniff the hem of his robes, barking in delight when he laughed. "Well, isn't that an interesting spell you've got," he said in wonder, eyeing her carefully. "A bit nasty, but breakable."

"Spell?" Leader asked slowly. It was not a nice tone of voice. Ferin sagged a bit, sitting and unable to look at anyone. Had she done something wrong again?

"Oh yes, Mister Dwarf. A terrible Witches spell! Feels like one of Moira's." He hummed, thoughtfully. "She never was one for being subtle in her lessons."

"Lessons?" asked the large woman.

"Yes, yes," he said distractedly, rummaging in his robe for something. Ferin brightened at the prospect of a treat. "She never was one to be cruel. There is always a reason for it. Now where did I put that – aha!" He pulled out a purple crystal half the size of his palm, and rubbed it in his hands for a moment, warming it up before he tapped it on Ferin's forehead.

Ferin had a sudden, alarming clarity of staring at a dotty looking Wizard. Memories slowly seeped into her mind. There had been the Trolls. A cave. And this person flying out of the trees. Raji? Rumel?

"What did you do?"

"I just brought her mind back," he replied to Vala, rubbing the crystal between his palms once more, much like one would rub sticks to start a fire. "It needs a bit of a kick start before I can use it to reverse the spell." He continued the movement, completely missing the entirely confused assembly of Dwarves, a woman, and one Hobbit. "Now, this should bring you back to the way you were just before the spell, do you understand?"

Ferin could only stare, wide-eyed at the now glowing, pulsing crystal that was rapidly moving towards her forehead. There was a fleeting thought at the back of her mind of how she'd been before she had been cursed, and she turned to flee –

Only to feel the crystal graze her back. Pain licked up her spine, pulling sharply at her hair, and burning her skin. Bones shifted, arms and legs lengthened, and her skull reshaped itself inwards.

After a few moments, she gasped in much needed air, hunching her back on all fours against the stretch of her skin over a newly reformed body. Closing her eyes in an attempt to stop them watering, Ferin could only imagine what the Dwarves were seeing of her now: pale skin, having been long out of the sun, clashed with a torn and filthy, dark green tunic, barely held in place by a worn leather belt. Her dusty tan leggings were stuffed haphazardly into knee high boots that had seen better days, and there was no sign of weaponry or cloak against the weather. She was exactly as she had been when the Witch had cursed her. A wallowing drunk that was no longer respectable in good company.

Her hair, unusually cropped quite tightly to her scalp, was sticking out at varying angles. She ran a hand through the shock of grey-streaked, brown locks, grasping the short strands in a vain attempt to hide an old branded scar that marred her face. The darkened skin ran across her brow, down her temple and to her cheek. Ferin groaned softly, trying to keep her stomach from expelling its contents from the horrible dizziness Radagast had inadvertently placed her in with his reversal spell.

Blinking hard, and unnerved by the silence around her, she carefully sat up on her haunches and opened her eyes. White specks glimmered across her vision, and when they faded, Ferin realised the world around her was spinning violently. She quickly cupped a hand to her mouth and closed her eyes against the nausea.

Finally, there was a familiar cry of, "Ferin!" from Vala. Ferin was enveloped in a tight, suffocating hug. She moved her hand away awkwardly, and sagged in her friends grip, thankful for the support.

"Vala," she said slowly, inquiringly, her voice rough and a little distant.

"Hmm?" came her friend's voice at her ear, the woman squeezing just a touch harder.

"I have a few questions." Her voice sounded a bit slurred now.

"Yes?"

"Are we in a forest?"

"Ah, yes."

"My apologies. I'm a little…. fuzzy on the details," Ferin responded. Squinting her eyes open, she spotted a stunned Bofur a few feet away. The others were behind and to the side where she could not see, and they were all bit of a blur at the moment. "Am I in any way naked?"

A bark of laughter. "Well, you're clothes are rather torn and revealing, but -"

" _What?_ " She struggled a bit.

"I'm only jesting. I've seen you dressed much better, however," There was a disapproving tone there, "but you are not naked."

Ferin wilted. "Good." Closing her eyes against the blurry vision of their companions, Ferin frowned at the roll of her stomach. Memories were coming back. "Do they look angry?"

She could feel Vala turning her head away to look. "Well... More shocked, I think. Except for Thorin... and perhaps, Dwalin. Fili and Kili look amused, though, and very interested."

Ferin groaned, releasing a curse.

Vala burst out laughing. "Any more questions?"

She felt very, very tired all of a sudden. "Hmm? Oh, yes, just one. Why is everything  _moving_?"

Vala finally moved away. Ferin listed to one side, before being caught by Vala's hands resting on her shoulders. Scrutinising every detail of her friend in moments, Vala's eyes widened in disbelief. She leaned forward and took a deliberate sniff. "Are you  _drunk?_ "

Ferin could feel the heavy weight of her head dragging her down. "Maybe. Probably." She grimaced. "I was drunk at the time I was cursed, so yes? I suppose so." Finally looking up to the others, she waved a sluggish arm. "Hullo."

Fili and Kili waved back eagerly, before getting thumps off Balin and Gloin.

"I… I may have something to sober her up," volunteered Dori absently, sounding a little put off that he was talking at all. He felt around for some of the herbs he often kept in his pack for tea, and he pulled out a cloth wrap full of something dark green, and leafy.

Oin stepped forward to look. "Aye, it's better in hot water but if you chew it, and swallow with some water from one of the gourds, it should help," he offered, handing her his own water skin pouch to sip from.

"Thank you," she said, holding out her hand for Dori to tip a few leaves into her palm. Tossing them back, Ferin chewed at the bitter, dry plant, scrunching up her face to when her stomach convulsed. They tasted  _awful._ Swallowing a generous portion of Oin's water, they all waited for it to kick in.

Ferin gasped when, several minutes later, a bright flare of pain nearly forced her to lose consciousness. Her blood boiled, and her skin felt like it was stripped away by Dragon-fire. The sudden ache in her bones felt like she was laid bare on a smithy's anvil while he hammered away. She choked in an effort to stop her scream escaping.

"Ferin, what's wrong?"

"Is she having a reaction?" Bilbo asked anxiously.

"No," Vala said in confusion. "She's had those before. Gandalf warned me she'd feel pain; that's why we were hoping for somewhere safe before reversing it, but I didn't think it would be this bad."

Ferin could not stop a sob escaping, curling in on herself. "Make it stop.  _Please_."

"The drink must have had a numbing effect," Oin concluded, racking his brain for something quick he could make up to help -

A howl rent the air around them.

Ferin felt a horrifying terror claw at her lungs. She gritted her teeth, furious at the prospect of dying by the hands of Wargs and Orcs when she had just -

Looking up through blurred vision, she blinked hard, only to see a Warg descending down the rocks behind Bilbo and Bofur.

"Behind you!"

Bofur turned on time to duck, allowing Thorin to rend his blade through the beast's neck. Another appeared behind Thorin, but Kili released an arrow. It sank into its skull quick enough to drop it, but it was Dwalin's hammer that crushed its head.

"Warg Scouts," Thorin growled, yanking his sword from the Warg. "Which means an Orc pack is not far behind."

Gandalf appeared, Radagast just behind him. Ferin tried to straighten, to stand, but her legs failed her.

"Who did you tell about your quest?" Gandalf demanded of Thorin. "Beyond your kin."

Thorin watched him warily. "No one," he answered.

"Who did you tell!?"

"No one," he intoned sincerely. "I swear."

Ferin released a loud curse. The Wizard, puffed up in anger jerked in surprise, for she had directed it at him. "You asked me to aid you by guarding those in this company," she said through the pain piercing her temples. "I am in great pain, weaponless, and entirely useless, except for my voice. If you do not move out now, Orcs will find us and they will make us pray for death. We must move.  _Now_. Argue when we are all still breathing after this."

A sharp pain lanced up her side. She bowed with a gasp, her vision darkening. She wasn't sure how long she would remain awake.

"What in Durin's name is going on?"

"We are being hunted. Ferin is correct. We must move, and quickly."

Unfortunately, the ponies had bolted, leaving them no choice but to run. Radagast took it upon himself to lead the Orcs away. Vala tried to give Ferin her blade before they moved, but Ferin refused it. "I will be unable to wield it. Just direct me where to run, and I will. Beyond that is too much for me to bear." She had glanced at the others behind her. "I ask you this, and only this. Don't let me stop. I would rather die than be taken by Orcs."

Knowing what could entail should she be captured, they nodded, even if some were a little green at the prospect.

They ran, and it was agony. The pain burned a path through her veins, and through her joints with every step. Her lungs burned with the effort, but she dared not stop. Vala tried to guide her where possible, grasping her tunic to steer her this way and that, speaking breathy instructions when they curved around large boulders and down steep drops. Sounds around Ferin began to fade, replaced instead by a ringing in her ears and the  _rush rush rush_  of blood.

Twice she stumbled over a rock she could not see, and twice a Dwarf hauled her up to keep moving. They skidded to a halt when the Wargs drew too near, changing direction to leave her near the back. She followed the blurred shapes until someone yanked her to stop, forcing her against the flat of a rock. The press of the body panicked her. They were too heavy to draw in enough air. Something thick and wet slide down her chin, the metallic taste strong on her tongue. The person pinning her was breathing harshly in her ear.

"Get ready," they murmured, and she was surprised to recognise the voice as Thorin's. She nodded, wanting to just  _breathe_  – "Run. Now."

He stepped back, and they moved on at a rapid pace. More sharp turns, more stops, and her vision began to darken, lungs struggling to gain enough air, legs failing to get enough purchase on the softer grass. She wouldn't have much longer. Again, they pressed against a cluster of rocks, and again she found it was Thorin keeping her steady. His rough hand covered her mouth, and Ferin grunted. "Quiet," he whispered harshly. She nodded and he released her, shifting his weight but for what, she could not tell.

Thumps, growls, and horrible screeches followed, and they were suddenly moving again, faster this time. A grey shadow grabbed her, but she had nothing left to give. Gandalf asked no more of her than to brace herself, before tossing her down a hole.

The pain whitened out her vision momentarily. Ferin clung to consciousness for fear of not knowing where she was, or how much farther they had to go. Ferin shoved herself up against the rock wall, clenching and unclenching her fists in an effort to focus. A sob escaped her, but she covered her mouth. Quiet, quiet, she had to be quiet.

A distant sound, familiar in some part of her mind, came from above. A thump, a smell, and Ferin focused to find the others were surrounding a dead Orc by her feet.

Someone approached her. Ferin could only make out a shadow. "Ferin, we have to keep moving. Not much farther," came Vala's voice, calming and soft.

Ferin shook her head. "I can't," she rasped. "Please, no more."

"I'm sorry, my dear, but we must." Gandalf's large form crouched beside her. "I promise you, we will be safe, but we must move on a little more."

She closed her eyes, releasing a heavy breath that wasn't quite a sob. Vala hefted her friend up by a strong grip on her shoulders. Ferin walked. Vala guided her. The light and colours around them changed at various points. Soon though, there wasn't enough space for more than one to walk abreast, so Ferin fell into line with the others. She bumped into rock face quite a few times, cutting her arms and legs through her clothing, until she could only list forward into the Dwarf in front of her, hands reflexively clutching anything within her range of movement. He was solidly built and taller than her own stature by a few inches. Her face rested on the thick fur of his coat. He tensed at her immediate presence, but she had no thought beyond  _walk._ He remained this way for most of the trek, but Ferin focused on his scent to take her away from the burning. It was earthy, with a hint of smoke, metal, and sweat.

Behind closed eyelids, the fading sunlight was still strong enough to make her groan. They stopped. Ferin's fingers were numb, her head throbbed, and her torment had nearly eroded her consciousness. A rumbling vibrated through her ears when her Dwarf talked with another, and then the world began to fade.


	7. Air On Her Skin

It was bright. And then it wasn't. 

** 

She was hot. Burning from the inside. Stifled in a cocoon of blankets. Her skin couldn't breathe. Her eyes couldn't see. There was no sound. No comfort. No relief. Blackness crept up, unseen, to drag her into the fire.

 **

The world tilted. Something sharp spilled over her tongue. She coughed when it slid down the wrong way, leaving her in a fit that felt like a knife to the throat.

 **

"Get away! Get away from me!"

"Ferin, stop! They're only trying to help."

 **

It hurts.

_It hurts._

"I know it does. I know, but you did it to yourself, you old fool."

 **

In the times they woke her, they tried to break her fever, sooth her limbs, and calm her mind, but no matter what they made her eat, or drink, or take… it didn't stop the shaking. Tremors in her hands. Convulsions of her stomach. Clenched teeth, and chattering bones. The very core of her wanted to shatter.

Curled up at the edge of the bed, Ferin began to become more aware.  _Let me shatter._

She wept.

 **

"Make it stop," she gasped, eyes unable to focus in the dark room. She could be talking to anyone, or no one.

A shadow across her vision, frightening in its height and blurred obscurity. "Shh. You must rest."

Ferin didn't recognise the voice. Not at all.

**

Another moment of consciousness. There was a dim light, flickering all around the room, and she was howling; thrashing against unseen hands holding her down.

This went on and on. Ferin, blinded by nightmares and fear, could not hear anything but her own blood rushing through her ears.

Someone stepped forward. Someone large and grey. So much grey. A rough hand pressed to her forehead gently. Something wet was smeared from the point of her chin to the hollow of her neck and the sharp scent of it -

Ferin tensed, half raised in her fit of anger on the bed, resisting the hands of the Elvish healers that were trying to hold her down. Eyes rapidly searched over faces, familiar and not…

Chest heaving from exertion, she was suddenly aware of Lord Elrond sitting on the bed at her side, thumb still resting on the base of her neck, expression wary and watchful. Hovering over her upper body and Elrond, was Gandalf, calloused hand sweeping back her sweat slick hair.

Ferin eased back onto the mattress silently, swallowing against a dry throat.

"Welcome back, my dear," the Wizard murmured.

"Indeed," Elrond added, his voice low, but warm. He removed himself, as did Gandalf, and the healers released her at once. They left. Gandalf claimed a chair by the bedside, and Ferin blinked up at the familiar ceiling of Imladris' healing quarters.

Lord Elrond busied himself setting up a tray of… something Ferin couldn't identify. "You must drink each of these before you sleep." He touched the last of four silver goblets. "This one last. I will see you on the morn, should you feel able." He tilted his head respectfully, and left with a quiet sweep of his robes.

Ferin lay there, flat against the bed, and breath still short. After a few minutes, she held her breath and glanced in Gandalf's direction, eyes glazed with remnants of fever induced dreams.

"You needed to rid yourself of the toxins in your body," the Wizard murmured, "and the damage from the spell."

"Toxins," she echoed.

Gandalf sighed. It was heavy, and made Ferin feel ashamed. He was  _disappointed_  in her. She could feel it. "You will not succumb to the temptation of alcohol while on this quest. Please. For all our sakes."

Ferin turned her head back to watch the ceiling. She pictured all the times she had fallen off a horse, a stool, a cart… She pictured the fights, and the lurid filth that tried to sway her attentions when inebriated. She remembered all the times Vala had found her passed out, and all the times her friend brought her home, and kept her safe. She remembered the last time she had seen Vala, hurt from their argument, and feeling satisfied that at least she would be a burden no more, before she had left her friend there to go on with her own life. And she remembered being alone for a year before she fell to the Witches spell and shamed herself further.

"You have my word," she said softly.

Gandalf nodded, and aided her in drinking Elrond's medicine. He lit his pipe afterwards, waving a hand to put out the lanterns around the room by magic. Ferin slipped into sleep with the flare of fire from his inhale at the centre of her vision.

**

A quiet intake of breath and Ferin was awake, eyes quickly taking in her surroundings; a bright room, bathed in the morning sunlight, a dresser pressed against the bed and wall on her left, a window just passed it where there was a chair that Gandalf had occupied the night before, and a pale beige curtain stirring in a slight breeze...

A gasp hitched in the back of her throat when the cool air caressed her skin. Turning her head, she closed her eyes, the world turning pink with the strength of the sun. The hair on her arms and the back of her neck stood on end, and Ferin clenched her hands.

Fourteen years. It had been fourteen years since she was last in this form. Fourteen years since she had felt the heat on her skin, the cool wind causing a shiver down her spine.

For a moment, just a moment, she lay suspended in time, her mind quiet.

Then there were voices. A lof of them, drifting in through the window. Ferin listened, and realised that it was the Dwarves. No Elf would be so rambunctious.

Although stiff and sore, Ferin slowly willed herself up. She managed to slide to the edge of the bed, feet slipping down to the cold floor. The sheet was half dragged with her efforts, and a new sheen of sweat gleamed on her face and neck. Eventually, she was standing (a little unsteadily) and moving towards the window. The tunic she was dressed in was large, acting like a long nightshirt. It reached down to the back of her knees, and was nearly soaked through from her fevers. A pungent smell wafted up from her skin. Ferin grimaced, but persevered to get to the window.

_I just want to look outside._

Finally, shielding her eyes with a shaking hand until they adjusted, Ferin stood right in the centre of window frame and stared. Imladris had always been beautiful. She had visited several times throughout her life, and each time was just as breathtaking as the first. Bracing herself on the frame, she took a slow sweep of all she could see, until she had gotten her fill.

This may be the last time she would be able to do so.

Down below, the Dwarves grew louder. Ferin looked to find them scattered around a large fountain. She couldn't pick out what they were saying, but their intent was clear when they began to strip. Snorting, Ferin shook her head. A waft of her own unwashed state reached her nose. The Dwarves had the right idea.

Turning away, Ferin took in the room again to find that all the beds were empty. She was the only patient. There was a doorway across from her and a bit further down, and on the bed nearest to it were her effects. Traversing the distance left her panting, but determined. Beyond the door was a washroom with fresh cloth to clean and dry herself.

She sighed, the knot in her stomach loosening slightly.

"Excellent," she breathed.

**

Getting the tunic off had been a challenge, but a welcome relief. Dropping it apologetically to one side for whoever tended to the wash, she stood there naked while she filled a basin with hot water from the pipes connected to the springs around Imladris. Steam curled up around her and dampened her cropped hair and skin. Grasping a dry cloth, she poured some scented soap onto it, rubbed it vigorously and soaked it, before attacking her body with gusto. There was a claw foot bath to one side, but she didn't have the energy to heave herself over the edge.

Once clean, Ferin padded out, still damp, to rummage through her weaponry. Laid out carefully on the bed, she easily found her smallest knife and took it back into the bathing room. Some more soap applied on her legs and under her arms, and Ferin got to work carefully shaving off any unwanted hair. It was a practice well known in Man's culture, and the first time she had tried it had been quite decadent, and a warrior of her stature and disgrace had wanted to feel just that in her moment of weakness.

**

The clothes were new, and of Elvish design. Ferin could see where the alterations had been made for her size and shape, and was immensely grateful. She had not thought that far ahead when Gandalf had proposed his idea to come here.

The breast binding was soft, but held her firm. The leggings were a supple leather, and fairly tight without being constrictive, allowing her to slide on her worn, but perfectly serviceable, knee-high boots. The tunic was equally as soft as the breast binding, but tailored to cinch in at the waist before flowing over her hips and down to her knees. It folded well beneath her old belt, and the long sleeves were comfortable under her leather vambraces.

Feeling that donning her light armour was unnecessary given where she was, Ferin tied whatever was left of it up with her swords and daggers into a small pack she could easily carry.

Tightening the last strap around the long bundle, she placed them under one arm before venturing out of the healing rooms.

**

Though she felt weakened, determination forced Ferin to walk. After an hour of curiously wandering the halls to familiarise herself once more, she found the dining area. The tables were clean, the chairs unused, and although Ferin realised she was hungry, it was too early for lunch. Having no official room here, she decided to leave her things in one corner to collect later. She would wander some more instead.

**

The sun was setting, and her legs ached, but Ferin felt relaxed. She had enjoyed her time exploring, and had been content to keep to herself, despite meeting several Elves along the way. They nodded when they recognised her, and Ferin had been amused to catch snippets of conversation about the Dwarves draining them dry of food and wine. It had only been three days, according to one Elf, and they were already causing trouble.

When the sun vanished, and the light of the moon swam across the sky, Ferin had ventured close enough to the others to hear them talking and laughing amicably on a balcony below. Having returned to collect her pack, she had walked around until she had found them, but had to pause halfway down a set of steps when the noise of them grew. She sat, placing her things beside her, and listened for a time.

Off across the lower pathways that mapped out Imladris, Elrond and Gandalf appeared, their voices carrying easily to her place of hiding. When Bilbo climbed up the steps in his own exploration, he too stopped to listen, though he didn't appear to have seen her.

The older beings began to discuss the quest, and Gandalf's decision in taking it on. It wasn't long before Thorin made an appearance. Quiet and solemn, he came to a stop behind the Hobbit. Fully dressed and groomed, he stayed silent. The only movement he made was to rest his hands on his belt. Ferin watched him quietly.

Gandalf and Elrond's voices suddenly carried a slightly more heated tone. The Elf Lord stopped and faced the Wizard, features drawn and fierce. "Have you forgotten? A strain of madness runs deep in that family."

Here, Ferin noted Thorin's shoulders become tense. He slowly turned away, expression troubled.

Ferin could tell he was uncertain, perhaps even afraid. _Does he fear what he may be capable of?_ She tried to get one final glimpse of the pair to see if she could derive anything from Gandalf's expression.

"His grandfather lost his mind - his father succumbed to the same sickness. Can you swear Thorin Oakenshield will not also fall?"

There was a pause, but when the path took them further upwards, where Ferin suspected would be a meeting of the White Council, she could no longer see them from her vantage point. Frowning, Ferin turned to regard Thorin, only to find him frozen, eyes fixed on her form low in the shadows. His expression shuttered off immediately.

She said nothing, having a feeling that Thorin and his quest was not the only topic that would be on the Elf Lord's mind. The Dwarf would get retribution, and she was correct, when Elrond steered the conversation to her.

"And what of Ferin?"

They appeared to have stopped once more at this. "What of her?"

"I know as well as you, that she is unfit for this quest."

"Nonsense."

" _Mithrandir,_ " Elrond chided firmly.

Gandalf sighed, and his voice drifted further up the steps once more. "It was time for her to stop hiding. She is needed. Having a Hobbit is grand, having Ferin is a hopeful assurance."

"Assurance of what?"

"That she will survive long enough to find herself. Should she succeed, they will be all the stronger for it."

Elrond was quiet for a moment. Ferin could see Bilbo and Thorin watching her from the edge of her vision, but she kept her head pointed towards their voices, eyes low to stare at her boots.

"You know what she will face."

Gandalf grunted. "Yes."

"She has been gone these past fourteen years. And a good deal longer still since she received it. That does not mean people will forget. Stories will have been told."

"A great many, I have heard."

"She is effectively in exile."

"She has been for seventy years, it will be no different. She is strong. She will survive it. She has no other choice, now," Gandalf finished, his tone suggesting the matter be dropped. It was, and their voices carried away a final time as they entered the stone dias.

There was a thick silence between the three. Ferin sighed, lifting her head to face them. Thorin… Thorin, she couldn't read. Bilbo just seemed a bit baffled, but curious.

"Seventy years?" he asked, voice low and as polite as he was able.

Ferin had not been expecting that. At all. "Um…"

"You couldn't be… Surely? I mean, not that I mean to pry, but really? Seventy years? Not that I have the faintest clue about what they were talking about, but you don't look your age I must say - "

Ferin cleared her throat, glancing at Thorin as if he could help. He was frowning, but she could see a faint curiosity there, as well as confusion. "Well, I am one hundred and eighty seven years old, so yes, I received this mark about seventy years ago." She pointed to the brand on her right temple.

"Mark? I'd say that's a bit more than - oh, I'm terribly sorry. That was very rude of me."

Ferin reached out a placating hand. "It's alright, Mister Baggins. No offense was taken."

Bilbo's eyes widened. "Oh please, call me Bilbo - "

"If you'll excuse me," Thorin rumbled, tipping his head and turning away. He left, and Bilbo and Ferin were left feeling at a loss.

"Wonder what that was about," the Hobbit mused, brow furrowed and hands on his hips.

Ferin took a deep breath and gathered her things. She stood. "I don't know. Shall we go greet the others? I can smell food, and I'm famished."

Distracted, Bilbo nodded. "Yes, yes of course. Excellent idea."

Ferin followed behind him, pads of her fingers rasping along the stone railing on the way down. She could see Thorin join the group from where they were. He was conversing with Balin, heads together as he glanced in their direction. Ferin looked away. A growing feeling in her stomach caused her to frown. She might not have to travel anywhere to find someone who knew the story of Ferin, the Traitor of the Misty Mountains.

 

*

*

_A/N: Thank you for sticking with me. Some of the scenes above are from the deleted scene of The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey, with the Dwarves and Bilbo in Imladris, with Elrond and Gandalf talking on the way to meet the White Council. ZeB xx_


	8. First Conversations

Her arrival went unnoticed, except for the watchful eyes of Balin and Thorin. Ferin looked away to the floor, hesitating. She had gotten to know these men over several weeks of travel, but not enough to know their reaction when she presented herself.

Bilbo slipped by her to stand to one side. He seemed a bit tentative himself, but she could not guess his reasoning. He cleared his throat. Bofur looked over, a large smile on his face and mouth open - to tell Bilbo what they had been up to no doubt - when he snapped it shut at the Hobbit's expression. Bilbo was tilting his head in Ferin's direction, gaze pointed and purposeful. Bofur frowned in confusion, and looked over, only for his eyebrows to disappear under his hat.

"Lads," he called. "Lads," he said again, when they didn't hear him the first time.

They quieted and followed his stare to Ferin. They sat straighter. Ferin couldn't get a read on any of them. Far in the back by Dwalin, Vala smiled a little sadly, but nodded in encouragement.

Ferin placed her pack down out of the way, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. She straightened. When she opened them again, she kept her line of sight to the stone floor. She bowed slightly. "Ferin, at your service."

"Well," Balin said eventually, looking around at the others. "I don't think we really know what to say to you lass."

Ferin nodded, swallowing. "I am of the same mind, Master Balin."

Another few minutes of silence. "I suppose you should take a seat then. No time like the present to introduce ourselves."

"Of course." Ferin glanced around, but couldn't find an appropriate spot. They were sprawled everywhere. Wanting to avoid Thorin entirely, she saw a place against the wall to the right. She sat against it. From this vantage point, she could see them all, the exit should she need it, and nothing but stone was at her back. When she looked up, she found the others watching her with varying degrees of knowing expressions.

"In trouble often, lass?" Balin inquired softly.

"I'm sorry?"

He ambled over and took a seat on a small stone bench that looked more for decoration than Balin's intended purpose. Ferin couldn't imagine an Elf would seat themselves so low on a balcony. "If we truly believe what we've seen in the last few days, you've been travelling with us for several weeks, where we have put you to no harm, and yet you sit in the best position to defend yourself and escape, should you need it."

Ferin carefully crossed her legs, and regarded the Dwarf in case he mistook her words. "I have had very little trust to give to others, Master Balin. More than half my life, I have been thought of as something I am not, and I can't escape it." Looking around at the others, Ferin took a deep breath. "I will, however, try my best to temper my mistrust, and hope to earn yours in return."

"And how will you go about that?" drawled Dwalin across the fire, eyes dark.

Vala, sitting beside him, elbowed him in the side. He grunted and sent her a glare. Vala gave him a withering look. "Give her a chance, you oaf. You gave me one."

The large Dwarf clenched his jaw. "You nearly gave me a black eye and broken nose."

"But I didn't. 'Nearly' means that I didn't."

Dwalin frowned severely, but sent an expectant look to Ferin.

Ferin cleared her throat, keeping her curiosity at bay for later. "Ask what you will of me. I will… try to answer to the best of my ability."

"Will you tell the truth?" Bofur asked.

Ferin pressed her lips together, and rubbed her hands on her thighs. "I have no reason to lie, Master Dwarf, but you wouldn't know that. You will just have to judge for yourselves."

There was a murmuring among them. Nori finally eyed her, and then spoke for the rest of them. "Alright. We'll do it your way." 

**

It took them a while, but it was Fili who began. He, being the closest to her bundle, picked it up and asked her about her weapons. Ferin spent a few minutes explaining what she carried and where they came from.

"You stole swords from Elves?" enquired Bilbo in confusion.

"Borrowed," Ferin insisted for the third time. She frowned at a sudden dizziness that overcame her. Closing her eyes, she breathed deeply to let it pass, leaning harder against the wall. The company had eaten all the food, and she was in no mood to go hunting for something at this late hour (even if her hunt only involved a trip to the kitchens). Her walk today had been the opposite of resting. She was sure the healers would have something to say to her should they see her.

"'Borrowed' implies giving them back," Vala admonished gently.

Ferin opened her eyes to see her friend trying to hold back a smile. She pursed her lips in mock annoyance, having had this conversation for years. "He  _will_  get them back. When I die. Elves live on for thousands of years. They have time. I'm sure I could leave them in Gandalf's care, and he can return them."

Vala barked out a laugh. "Of course."

"Well," said Bofur, grinning. "She's in my good books! Stealing from Elves." He poked the fire to bring give it some more life. "Best thing I've heard since we got here."

"Aye, and mine," added Kili.

"Mine too," said Fili. Both brothers shuffled closer.

"Boys," growled Balin, shaking his head when they gently insinuated themselves on either side of her.

Despite not knowing what the boys might do, Ferin held up a placating hand. "It's alright, Master Balin."

"She's used to lack of manners," Vala teased, leaning forward to support her elbow on a bent knee. She smiled wickedly. "She has none herself."

Kili, to the right of her, was staring intensely at the marking on her face. She held back a sharp comment, hoping that they didn't understand what the burn meant. They wouldn't have been born, or if they had, they would have been too young to know any better. As she had told Bilbo and Thorin, it had been some seventy years or more since she received the branded scar, patterned to be recognisable anywhere she went. Fili, to her left, tugged a few strands of hair as if he'd never seen it before. "If you're looking for insects, little ape, I suggest you try elsewhere."

Fili stopped abruptly, realising what he must have looked like, removing his hand when Thorin glared at him across the fire. "Sorry," he said sheepishly.

Ferin smiled knowingly. Her hair was a disaster; long in some areas, short in others, and untamable in it's thickness.  _I must look strange to Dwarves_ , she thought. Over the course of the journey so far, Ferin had learned that Dwarves were quite particular about their appearance. Every few days, if not every day, they would untangle their elaborately designed hair to clean it, comb it, and fix it to their liking. For the reputation they had as cumbersome, filthy minors that dwelled in dark mountains, they took every opportunity to clean themselves from the days travel. Familial ties seemed to be re-enforced by helping another with their hair or clothing; the thick, heavy layers they wore (clothing that was made to last) was finely tended to if it got damaged.

They may be sitting around in their underclothes, but none of them seemed embarrassed. Some of their effects were draped over stone and wood alike to warm by the fire…

Ferin blinked, struck with a thought. "How did you make a fire in the middle of a stone balcony - is that furniture?"

She ignored Bofur and Kili's laughter at young Prince Fili, and their laughter at her disbelief that they were burning beautiful Elvish wood. Raising her hands, she let it go, because  _really_. Instead, when she glanced up, she found her gaze on the small Hobbit watching her from the corner of his eyes by Thorin and Balin. "If you wish to ask me questions, I will not be offended, Bilbo." He seemed reluctant, so she let him be for now. "Keep asking your questions, if you wish."

"You'll really answer  _anything_  we ask?" Ori asked quickly, shuffling forward with his notebook and pen ready.

She was not sure what he wanted to ask, so she skirted that question with, "Perhaps not all," she amended, "You have my apologies for how I went about this. I had a desire to travel on this journey for my own reasons, so I chose the less resistant path, which meant doing you all a disservice."

"Aye," agreed Dwalin. Ferin looked at Vala. Her friend shrugged helplessly. Ferin waited patiently. The older Dwarves murmured quietly to themselves, while the younger ones tried their best to keep their silence.

Kili didn't last long. "How old are you?" he blurted, earning sighs from the others. Ferin smiled, grateful for the young Dwarf's eagerness. Many of the company, including Dwalin and Thorin, looked ready to bombard her with difficult questions that may dredge up a past she wanted to forget. It was inevitable that she would have to bare most, if not all, of her soul to these men, but she would hold it off for as long as possible.

"It's not right to ask a lady her age," frowned Dori.

Ferin answered anyway. She had already parted with that information not too long ago. "I am one hundred and eighty seven."

Bilbo finally settled himself closer. If others were going to ask it of her, he might as well indulge. "So you're not from the race of Man?" Bilbo asked.

"No," she agreed.

"Then, are you a Dwarf?" asked a curious Ori.

"Don't be daft, lad," said Dwalin. "Do you see a beard or large ears?"

"She could be part Dwarf," said Bofur, gazing at her as if he could pick out Dwarven features where none were to be found.

"Part Elf, maybe?" Bilbo suggested. The others scowled at this.

"Or part Hobbit."

They glanced at Bilbo's feet and ears, and then they turned to Ferin. She lifted a foot and worked her boot off to show quite human looking feet. She even wiggled her toes. Putting the boot down, she turned her head to let them see her ears.

"She could be all or none, as Gandalf often says," Vala added.

They looked at her expectantly. Feirn raised her eyebrows and said honestly, "I don't know from where my heritage hails."

"What?"

"How can you not know?"

"Well," she started, bringing her leg up to put her boot back on, and then bending it to allow her elbow to rest on her knee like Vala. "I was abandoned by my parents when I was born. I don't know what, or who, they were. I often thought I was of the race of Man, but living this long has proved otherwise. I am aging - the grey in my hair proves it - but I am unsure. My stature lends to possibilities, but I don't know enough to be certain. Perhaps my parents were Man and Dwarf, or Hobbit and Man, or even Elf and Man, or Elf and Dwarf," she added with a smirk. They scowled again. She flicked her hand and shrugged. "I do not know, and I don't have a desire to."

"How can you not care?" asked Ori softly, peering at his brothers with a worried sadness.

"I have lived a long, hard life, Master Ori," she said gently, looking away from his sorrowful face. "I care not for the people who left me behind. Their lives have never impacted mine, not even to the far reaches of Elves or Man, so they most likely meant little to the world." She worked her jaw to stem the bitterness in her tone. "I have tried not to dwell on it."

"Gandalf found her in a human village as a child," Vala said, when Ferin didn't continue. "He knew she wasn't one of them, but he couldn't discern what she was or where she came from."

"What did he do?" Bilbo asked, tucking a leg beneath him.

"He took me with him, for a time. We travelled all over Arda, visiting different races. I learned what I could from them, but it was difficult. I was a bit of a wild child." She scratched her cheek, the odd texture of her mark too smooth against her palm. "He tried to guide me as much as possible. The Hobbits found me too violent for The Shire. The Elves of Imladris found me unfocused and uncouth. Man could not accept me at all, it seemed. I was small, and aged at a peculiar rate. I was also stronger than a normal Man's offspring. They became afraid of what I could do."

Vala suddenly smiled. "Dwarves, however - "

"Dwarves?" Kili asked eagerly, sending an rueful look to Vala for interrupting.

Ferin hummed, uncomfortable with Vala's amusement.

"Yes, my dear Master Kili. Dwarves. Specifically, the ones in Erebor."

There was a beat of silence.

"You've been to Erebor?" Thorin asked with a frown.

"Once or twice," Ferin admitted.

"What happened? Why were the Dwarves different?" Bilbo asked.

Vala raised her eyebrows, waiting for Ferin to elaborate, but she pressed her lips together. There was no way she was embarrassing herself for her friend's amusement. "I don't really remember."

"Nonsense," Gandalf countered suddenly, appearing through an archway leading back into the main house behind them. He smoothly meandered through legs, packs, clothes, and wooden fragments for the fire to perch on the wall overlooking the lower pathways Ferin had been observing earlier. He placed his staff against the stone, and rummaged around his robes until he found his pipe. He used magic to create a small flame on his thumb, and lit it. "I tried to keep her respectful in the city of Dale, but young Ferin had other ideas. She was already in the mountain before I even realised she was missing. Never did learn not to wander off," he muttered, releasing a disapproving puff of smoke. Ferin grimaced.

"What did you do?" Nori asked.

Ferin sighed. "I did what any other person would do when confronted with a city in a mountain: I got lost."

"She wandered the city for half a day before she began to lose her willfulness. Twice, she attempted to steal food from a market stall, only to get reprimanded firmly by the Dwarf who was selling it. He went so far as to bring her to the authorities, where a young Mister Dwalin was learning his trade in the King's Guard."

There was a moment of silence, and then a rumbling growl. "That little brat was  _you_?"

Ferin gave Dwalin a weak smile, nodding.

"Do you know the trouble you caused my father?"

"Whatever they, and you did, Master Dwalin, seemed to have worked. She was sufficiently chastised, and behaved well from that day onwards." The Wizard frowned. "Well, most of the time, at least."

Ori was frantically scribbling something in his book. Dwalin looked perturbed that he'd met her before. She'd been young, but not young enough not to remember a chastisement from the head of the King's Guard. He'd been enormous to her young stature, and she could only stare at him throughout his lecture at proper behaviour for a Dwarfling in the city. Gandalf had found her sitting quietly with a cross Dwalin on a bench outside the Guard building, swinging her legs back and forth. She stared at the ground, silent as Dwalin explained what had happened. Gandalf hadn't the heart to tell the Dwarf that Ferin wasn't a Dwarfling, but he took her 'back to her parents'.

Ferin had trotted after a quiet Gandalf, and they had made their way back towards Greenwood, to visit Imladris once more.

"Why is your hair so short?" Fili asked, after a few minutes of baffled tension, trying to bring the topic back to something pleasant.

Vala began to laugh. Ferin looked up at the ceiling, as carved and intricate as all the Elven decor, and grimaced at another embarrassing topic. "I lost a bet to a woman in a game. I was to style my hair a certain way if I lost. Unfortunately, Vala volunteered to do it. We were both well into our cups though, and it became so tangled, we had to cut it off."

"Shame we decided to cut it off while still drunk," Vala said, a wide and unapologetic grin stretching her features. "And that was shortly before being turned into a dog, so it's stayed that way."

"What bet did you lose?" Dwalin asked, narrowing his eyes and looking as though her answer would be the test he would judge her worthiness on.

"That I could drink ten mugs of ale and do a handstand," she said quickly.  _Best to get it over with._

"Doesn't sound so bad," said Dori.

"She's not very good at them when sober, so it was a lost cause to begin with," Vala said, ever helpful.

They began to laugh. Ferin smiled, tugging at her uneven hair before leaning back to rest against the wall.

They asked her a few more questions, mainly about her adventures as a dog, which started their own conversations about games and jokes played on their friends and families.

Ferin enjoyed it for a while, but drifted off into her thoughts after a bit. When she focused again, it was to find Thorin watching her across the fire. He kept a carefully neutral face, but she could see something burning behind that gaze. He quietly asked the question he seemed to have been thinking about since she had been turned back.

"What wrong did you commit to turn you into that creature?"

It was such a precise question, like he knew the answer already, and the thought that he might gave Ferin pause. The air seemed to thin, and the fire seemed to cast a new heat that burned away her flesh.

Everyone quieted. Even Gandalf looked on in interest, having not heard the entire story himself. They had separated when Ferin came of an age where she could take care of herself. He had not seen her for many years until she found him in her new form. He'd not been there, and Vala had been busy elsewhere in the world, Ferin having encouraged her friend to seek her own path. When she encountered them again, they had been shocked, and she had told them only the bare impression of what had happened; that she had stumbled across a Witch, angered her in some way, and was treated to a distasteful spell.

A lie, of course.  _More of an omission, really._

Ferin looked away from the Dwarf Prince's steely regard, looking into the fire instead. She chewed the inside of her cheek and plucked at an invisible thread on her leggings. "I was drinking –" Dwalin's scoff interrupted. She didn't have to look at him to know he was rolling his eyes. They had to know that she had been going through withdrawal in the last three days. "I was drinking," she continued, frowning and forcing herself to ignore him, "in a Man's village. I wasn't in a terribly good mood, and had heard talk of a Witch passing through. She was good at fortune telling, and had a secret reputation for helping those in need, should they be worthy. I... thought I might be. It was a fleeting thought, but it was enough to convince me to try. After hearing the whispers, and after a night of heavy indulgence, I foolishly sought her out." She paused and looked up to Vala, trying to communicate how remorseful she was. "I am sorry... but I was desperate."

Vala frowned, fingers clenched in the fabric of her trousers. They were Elvish made, and a of a lovely shade of green that complimented her friend's skin. Her blonde hair, loose from it's usual braid, made her look the most relaxed that Ferin had ever seen. She was sorry that she couldn't have seen it sooner.

"Ferin, you could have come with me. I wouldn't have left you, if I'd known."

Ferin shook her head. She had never blamed her friend. She never could. "No, Vala. I was bitter and angry before I even met you. Our first years together were happy ones. For that, I am forever grateful. Your companionship was a balm to my sorrow, but I was failing you. Over time, I began to drown in the pain of my past again, and I could not burden you."

"Ferin..."

"I sought the Witch out," Ferin continued, hoping that by forcing it out, she could appease her friends worry. "I asked her to do a reading. She told me that if I continued on this path, I would bring nothing but ruin to the people I cared for. I thought, 'What more ruin could I bring? I have done so much damage already, and I have been keeping to myself.' So I argued with her. She grew irate, and told me that if I didn't change my ways, if I didn't stop wallowing in my own remorse, than I would die alone, half mad with grief." Ferin looked at Vala alone, knowing the woman was the only one who could understand. "I begged her to help me change it, but she said only I could."

"Oh, Ferin," Vala said softly. "What did you do?"

Ferin looked down to the fire. It was starting to wane, Bofur having forgotten to tend it as she spoke. It crackled half-heartedly. "I refused to accept it. I continued to plead with her, embarrassing myself with my inebriation, until she'd had enough. There was a light, and when I woke up, I was a dog." She clenched her fists, gritting her teeth at the memories. "I was so  _angry_. I didn't know what to do, so I looked for her. I ran as far as my legs would carry me. I hated her, but I hated myself more. It was a burning ache so fierce that it frightened me. After five years of searching, surviving, I found Gandalf. He couldn't reverse the spell without knowing more, but I was so ashamed at what I'd done, what I'd become... I'd grown so used to not being able to talk to people, to being alone, to feeling alone... I got used to thinking I would never be the same..."

There was a heavy silence for a time. Vala crossed to her friend, kneeling in front of her. "You made a mistake."

Ferin frowned. "I have made too many. Grave ones, at that." A sharp inhale, and Ferin pushed it all away. "I think, perhaps, it's time I retire. I'm not feeling too well."

Vala helped her stand. Legs straining at the sudden task, Ferin slowly made her way back through the corridors with her friend by her side. It only occurred to her when she was in front of a door, that they had been offered accommodation, but of course, the Dwarves, perhaps, didn't wish to use theirs.

Leaving her at the door, Vala parted with, "I'll bring some food by in a bit."

Ferin nodded, silently entering the room. A lantern, burning softly in one corner of the room, flickered at her entrance. It was a lovely chamber. Elaborate designs filled various nooks and crannies, licking up the walls to trail across the ceiling in ornate patterns meant to sooth and intrigue the observer. A bed, small for an Elf or Man, but quite large for Ferin, was subtly ensconced to the left of the room, covered in white sheets that felt like the soft, velvet petal of a flower when Ferin gave in to the desire to run her fingers over it. To the right of the room, beyond an arched doorway, was a bathing chamber. The steam that wafted out cause Ferin to release a relieved sigh, shoulders dropping. Crossing over the threshold revealed a steaming, sunken bath in the centre of the room. The scent of the local perfumed flowers soaked into her senses. She had already cleaned herself, but nothing compared a hot soak.

Stripping quickly with anticipation, she stepped forward. Breath caught in her throat at the heat on her toes. Ferin continued down until she submerged herself to her shoulders. A long, slow groan was drawn out of her. This was beyond the wildest ecstasy, she thought.

After a few minutes, she began to wash. Any remaining dust, sweat and dirt sluiced off her skin, leaving it pink and feeling smooth. Her hair, short as it was, was washed with ardour, only so she could duck her head under as quickly as possible. The hot water was fierce on the more delicate skin around her eyes, but she stayed for as long as her lungs would allow.

When she emerged, she spotted the the furred cuff of Vala's boot slipping back out of the chamber. Beside the bath, there was a platter of meat (knowing Elves, sausages were not a common fare), bread, and fruit. A goblet of wine and another of water rested beside it. She ignored the wine, and ate with a careful regard to the wonderful taste Elven fare provided.

When she finished, she sat against the edge, balanced on a step, and allowed her body to relax. It had been so long since she had indulged in a true bath. It wouldn't last long,, but she would be mad not to take advantage while she could. After a short time, her thoughts began to venture towards the dark. This time here in Imladris would probably be the last time she would ever be able to experience such peace. Their journey was long, and filled with many possibilities of death. Even if she made it to the mountain, Ferin thought that she would not be likely to survive much longer than that. She was tired. Worn down from life. She could no longer offer anyone anything of value. Her mark tainted her loyalty. Her adventures left her scarred and battleworn. She had no mind for politics, nor did she have the strength to start her life anew.

Returning to her form was a chance to redeem her mistakes, but she was no longer young. She had no way of knowing when her natural end would be, short of waiting for the time to pass, but she couldn't face the unknown years ahead of her. This journey would have to be her final effort at righting her wrongs. She would see the Dwarves to their home. She would see the Dragon slain, and Erebor reclaimed. That would have to be enough.

The water, now cooler, forced Ferin to get out. Drying herself, she abandoned the rest of the meal. Sated for now, she collapsed, naked, onto the soft sheets. If she was to face her death with her companions, then she would do so gladly. For now, though, she would rest.


	9. Time to Get Up and Moving

The next morning, Ferin woke when something soft hit her face. Pulling at the fabric in confusion, she squinted up at the ceiling in the morning sunlight. Vala was standing over her, having just thrown - Ferin looked down - a set of clothes over her.

 

“Right,” her friend began firmly, crossing her arms with a small frown. “By the look on your face, and knowing what you’re like, I shouldn’t have left you on your own last night. You brood like the world is going to end the next day!”

 

Ferin couldn’t think of anything to say, mind still sluggishly trying to comprehend what was happening. It was far too early.

 

“I’ve got your effects from last night. I never thought to grab them before you retired." She pointed a finger firmly in Ferin's direction. "You're going to get dressed and kitted up, and then I’m going to run you ragged until you get back into shape." She frowned and refolded her arms. "I know you’re probably still sore and tired, but we are limited on time. We only have two weeks to the moon to read that map. I want my friend back, even if I have to pull the self-pity out of you one bit at a time.”

 

The burly woman turned to grab a bundle of cloth and weaponry behind her from the stool Gandalf had sat upon the day before. She dropped them unceremoniously on top of Ferin’s chest. They slid partway off the edge before Ferin reflexively grabbed it, her mind still trying to catch up.

 

When she still hadn’t moved in several minutes, Vala casually slipped an axe out of her belt. Eyes wide, Ferin stood quickly to dress. Just when she tightened the last pieces of light armour, Ferin felt the broadside of Vala's axe on her backside.

 

“Move it!”

 

“Did you really just – Ah! That one hurt!”

 

“Tough. Get moving.”

 

Ferin obeyed, if a little exasperated by her friend's enthusiasm, grabbing her bundle of weapons along the way out the door. Despite the orders, Vala's eyes were alight with mischief and laughter.

** 

They had a light, quick breakfast with the others. Vala didn’t allow her to get into any deep discussions, instead elbowing her to keep her focus on finishing her food before they had to train. The company were bemused at the display.

 

When breakfast was over, Vala lead her to a grassed area near their makeshift camp. It was surrounded by a narrow pathway, half hidden by winding trees and crafted stonework. There, they stretched and warmed up in preparation to see if Ferin was fit enough for travel in the time they had left. Once finished warming up, Ferin strapped her twin blades to her back over a chainmail vest, and a worn, dark blue coat to cover everything from the elements. The terrains, weather, and foes would vary, so dressing as she would have on the journey was more practical, should they need to make a hasty escape.

 

Ferin slipped a favoured dagger into her boot, and then strapped one to her thigh. She wondered if she would be able to keep up, or if this was a useless endeavour. She had been fit in her previous form out of necessity and circumstance, but if the dotty brown Wizard did, in fact, change her to before she was that creature, she would be more out of shape than she thought.

 

The last fourteen years she had been living as a dog. The ten years before that were spent travelling with Vala on the woman's own journey across Arda. They spent the time working in various villages and cities, smithing, crafting, or working as private guards for whoever wished to pay them a decent price. In the few years leading up to Ferin’s transformation, she’d steadily began to drink and gamble more, tiring of people’s suspicions about her branded mark. It had happened over sixty years ago, yes, but even if the person who’d known the first hand story had passed on to the next world, most were still alive or had told it to others. This kept the story alive enough that Ferin couldn’t walk in broad daylight with the mark exposed, lest she incur the wrath of those who knew what it was.

 

The drink had left her sluggish and bitter; unfit for their plans, entirely, but there was no choice now. Recently sober, she just had to push through it.

 

Vala slapped her on the backside with the flat of her axe to break her thoughts.

 

“Will you stop doing that?” Ferin huffed, standing straight and facing her friend.

 

“Pay attention,” the larger woman warned, spinning her weapon in a practiced circle. “Go ahead of me. I’m not leaving you to slack behind.”

 

Ferin sighed, grimacing at the thought of the exhaustive battle she had ahead of her. Rolling her shoulders, she blew out a preparatory breath, and took off at a steady pace. Her joints ached every time they hit the ground, she worked up a sweat fifteen minutes in, and by the time they’d looped back to camp her lungs were burning to keep up with her racing heart. They stopped for a breather. Ferin bowed forward, heaving at the exertion of the short trip up the steps.

 

At her pathetic wheeze, Bofur inquired, “Are you alright?”

 

Ferin couldn’t catch her breath enough to answer, so she waved at him in reassurance without looking up.

 

“Have a drink,” Vala said from her right, amusement clear in her tone.

 

Ferin nodded eagerly, straightening to head for the nearest mug of ale on a small table by Balin. She froze at the solid thunk of her friends axe burying itself in the wood just in front of it.

 

“Not. Ale.”

 

Ferin swallowed, straightening carefully to face her friend’s bitter countenance. She retracted her hand to her side, keeping her expression neutral. Vala had left the glass of wine with the meal by her bath yesterday, but she had consciously refused it. Vala obviously had thought that a good sign. Now she had ruined her friends assurances by reaching out in bad habit.

 

Vala shook her head in confusion. “Do you not remember anything from the first three days?”

 

Ferin searched her memory. “Fragments.”

 

Vala sighed. “I was hoping you would remember all of it, eventually. You were in withdrawal, Ferin. We had to nurse you through it. You swore, in your delirium, that you would never touch another drop of that stuff again, as long as you survived your recovery.”

 

Ferin could feel eyes on her. Half the company were not here, the younger lads and Bilbo having gone off on their own presumably, but the rest were keeping each other company. “We?”

 

“Myself, Gandalf, and the Elven healers.”

 

Ferin winced. Vala had been there. Had she seen all of it?  She sighed and reached for a decanter of water. Pouring a good measure into a goblet, she took a few deep breaths. “If it helps, I remember feeling like the backside of a horse. I thought it was just the spell until Gandalf told me otherwise.” She gulped the water, keeping her gaze at the bottom of the cup.

 

“No, Gandalf helped with the severe side of that once we had you settled. Your body was still healing from it when you went into withdrawal.”

 

A sudden, burning need to escape this conversation made Ferin’s legs tense. She replaced the goblet on the table. Ignoring everyone, she nodded to her friend. “Shall we continue?”

 

Vala nodded gently. “Of course.” 

**

After the first day, they decided to take the same route around Imladris for a morning run, keeping close to Lord Elrond’s House where they had set up camp. Every evening, Ferin took advantage of the baths before joining the others, hoping that the two weeks would be enough to form some bonds to get her through the journey ahead.

 

Once they had established Ferin’s identity on the first day, the others found a new courage to enquire about her life. She spent many hours with Ori, telling him tales of her adventures with the Races of the world, and she still sat with Bilbo so as she could listened to his stories of home.

 

After several days, Ferin’s routine was to rise early, have breakfast, train, lunch, train, bathe, and then an evening meal. By nightfall, they camped with the Dwarves and shared stories, battle wounds, and songs (mostly on Vala’s side), bonding slowly through snippets of shared pieces of themselves to establish enough trust to endure their journey.

 

Over a week, Ferin’s lungs started to cope, her legs became stronger, and her endurance increased. Her body hadn’t forgotten how to work, and Vala knew how to push her to her limits and then just a bit further. After their runs, they sparred, Ferin slowly relearning how to use her swords as extensions of her arms, thrusting, parrying, and twisting until it was almost second nature once more.

 

She was by no means back to her old self before… well, _before_ , but she was improving. Sometimes, Balin sparred with her while Vala tackled Dwalin. Ferin enjoyed seeing her friend happy for a change with a partner other than herself.  At times the younger lads joined them, and the others would take bets on how long each party would last.

 

One day, in the late evening, Ferin and Vala decided to forgo their usual sparring, instead using hand to hand. Ferin used her speed over Vala’s brute strength, even though she was naturally stronger. Their armour and weaponry were put to one side, the women simply willing to enjoy the game.

 

Vala, pleased at having her friend returned to her over the last week, managed to get Ferin in a headlock to give her a vigorous knuckle rub along her skull.

 

“Oh you horrid – stop that! Ow! Get off!”

 

Vala laughed before yelping when Ferin pinched the inside of her thigh. She let go and they called it a truce, laughing as they flexed sore muscles and bruised limbs.

 

Vala’s smiled dropped to a curious smirk when her eyes wandered over Ferin’s shoulder. Ferin frowned, ceasing her stretch. “What is it?”

 

“I think you have a new competitor,” Vala said lowly, nodding her head in the direction she was looking.

 

Ferin turned to find Thorin watching them. He was leaning against the entrance of a passageway wall that ran along one side of the makeshift arena they had claimed, arms folded. It had been a bit of a warm day, as evidenced by his style of dress. Adorned in leggings, boots, a tunic, and a belt with his Elvish sword, Ocrist strapped to his side, he was the personification of relaxed. Well, it would be, if it wasn’t for his dark expression.

 

Vala left her with a light squeeze to her shoulder, passing Thorin with a nod.

 

Ferin and Thorin eyed each other for a several minutes. When he didn’t move or speak, Ferin took a determined breath and bent to retrieve one of her pair of swords, sliding the blade out of its scabbard. Flexing and turning her weapon with a loose wrist, she kept her face carefully still.

 

She had been waiting for this. He had been watching her all week, and it had only been a matter of time, really, before he challenged her for her slights.

 

He clearly thought he knew something about her. Ferin could see it in his face, his posture, his eyes… they were like every other person she had encountered that knew about her past.

 

Thorin moved, stepping away from the wall, unsheathing Ocrist in the same movement. Ferin backed up until he crossed from the stone path to her. They circled each other until he had taken Vala’s previous place as her opponent. He waited. When nothing was forthcoming, Ferin took the initiative, twisting her blade to bear down across his chest, but at half the speed she would give a real enemy. He blocked it with the same speed and they began a slow spar; counter, attack, step, parry, counter, step, attack. It went on for some time until something changed between them. Ferin was unsure who increased the pace. The strikes became harder, the attacks became swifter, and it continued to build until the were fighting at full strength.

 

He struck quickly, turning his wrist and guiding the blade in a sharp arch that would have sliced across her neck had she not reared back. Ferin felt the shift in the air. She swallowed. He had meant to follow through. The blows became heavier, stronger, more rapid. They dodged and parried, the metal echoing out across the space.

 

“This is your best effort?” he asked, his breathing a little laboured, but nowhere near enough to temper his strokes. A particularly strong downward blow forced Ferin to block awkwardly. She had to turn to one side, exposing her back for the briefest of moments, before spinning away from his next thrust. Another awkward block drove the tip of his blade away from her stomach. She was not fighting to win here. She was fighting to survive. Killing him would just be detrimental to their journey.

 

“No,” she gasped in response, lunging to drive him away from her, allowing space for her to collect herself. “My best would surely kill you. Wouldn’t want that.”

 

He stepped away and to the side to try another angle. “I will not allow you to travel with my company.”  

 

Ferin watched him hawkishly, stepping forward and curving her blade up. He could easily see where she was going, and she meant for it. Resigned to his answer, Ferin intoned, “And why is that, Prince Thorin?”

 

He bared his teeth and countered her attack. “I cannot have a self-pitying drunk endangering our Quest. I have no trust in your skills, nor a need for them.”

 

That threw Ferin entirely. “I - what?” She had expected him to say something else. Her guard dropped and he took advantage, causing her to jerk in surprise at his attack and back away.

 

“You are weak, and quick to temptation. It is bad enough the Hobbit travels with us; I do not need a mutt as well. You will only be a liability.”

 

She shouted an expletive in her mother’s tongue when his next swipe came too close to her thigh. He didn’t relent, and Ferin could only stare at him as he pushed her backward with a few well place strikes.

 

“I have no sympathy for you. Your stories may sway my kin, but your tales only tell me of your foolishness.”

 

Ferin frowned. “You know nothing of me.” He couldn’t possibly. He was reacting from what she had already told them of her, not the things she thought he might be condoning her for.

 

His regard was dark, and determined. “I know more than you think. I have heard of the woman warrior who wields twin blades. One who bears a scar like yours. A traitor who knows no honour.”

 

And there it was.

 

Her arm went slack. Nearly twenty years of never hearing the accusation, and it still hurt; like a fresh wound pressed upon, until it bled black and thick down her face. Thorin disarmed her, her blade flicked to one side to land with a thump.

 

The sun had nearly vanished behind the surrounding cliffs. Lamps in the nearby passageways were the only added glow aside from the sliver of moonlight creeping across the expanse of Imladris’ sky. Ferin stared at him mutely.

 

“You did not think I would find out about whom I travel with?” he asked seriously, stepping back and lowering his sword. “I have travelled far, and learned many things in my lifetime. Whispered truths, and fearful stories. I know you were foolish enough to allow your feelings to interfere with protecting your faction of soldiers, and you betrayed them; left them to die. How do I know you will not do the same again?”

 

Ferin could only stand there, throat constricted. _That’s not true_! she thought. _Lies. All of it. All of it!_

 

Thorin resheathed Ocrist, and frowned at her. He turned away, and headed to the passageway to join the others. “I should never have listened to Gandalf.”

 

Ferin clenched her hands, squeezing until the skin bleached white. For a brief moment, she imagined responding to him like she would have loved to do to everyone else who accused her of such things. She imagined running after him, howling her rage, and attacking with everything she had. He would fight back, of course. It would be violent, but she would feel retribution. Relief, perhaps.

 

Instead, she clenched her jaw, squeezed until her palms bared the imprint of her nails, and shoved it down, until the shaking stopped, and she was dizzy. With a hiss of released breath, Ferin opened her eyes to find herself alone.

 

Skin clammy, and eyes burning, she collected her things and left for her room in silence.

 


	10. Old Wounds

**60 years ago…**

_A deafening roar made Ferin wince. She turned her head to her shoulder, as if it would prevent her ears from bursting. A hot, burning wind sucked the breath from her lungs. Her skin was on fire._

_People were screaming outside. A woman's yell was cut off abruptly with a violent crack of stone from the tower above her._ We'll be trapped in here,  _Ferin thought. A shadow, long and swift, passed over Dale again, and then turned for the Mountain._

_A brief relief. Ferin stretched out her arm under the table, coughing against the smoke curling in the air. The shop was on fire, but she couldn't leave. Not yet. Crouched low, Ferin tried again. "We have to leave, little one. Please!"_

_Beneath the wide family table (the only thing left standing and in tact) there was a child. A little Dwarfling boy, crying out for his mother and clutching a wooden leg of the table with all his strength. His eyes were shut tight, and he was hoarse from his shouts for help and bouts of coughing._

_The noise grew louder, and she could hear what could only be the great gate of Erebor break, for she had never before felt a sound so loud it vibrated through the ground to the soles of her feet._

_She twitched her hand towards her. "Come! The beast will return back this way. We must find shelter!"_

_The little boy, full head of curled hair and no higher than her knee, finally released his death grip, uncurling and reaching towards her._

_Ferin nodded encouragingly. "Good lad! That's it."_

_For a heartbeat, he hesitated, and then he threw himself at her. She hugged him tight -_

_There was a creak, a snap, and the roof caved in, collapsing on top of them both. A heavy support beam struck her, and she blacked out._

_Gasping, Ferin came too on her stomach, immediately trying to assess the situation. It was quieter. The smoke had thinned from its release through the gaping hole in the ceiling. Her back was tense with pain, her legs trapped beneath wood and stone, and her hands were covered in cuts._

_For a hopeful moment, Ferin felt around for purchase and pushed up with a grimace. Her hand slipped -_

Where was the boy?

_A frantic search. A rough call. "Hello? Boy?"_

_There. Three feet away, a small arm the only part of him exposed under all the debris, his hand half curled and unmoving._

_She gasped harshly, not realising she'd held her breath at the discovery._

_Something in her chest clawed its way to her throat, and tore through tissue and bone and flesh. For a long moment, Ferin shut her eyes tightly, and held her breath until she could see stardust, and then she released everything in one deep breath, desperate to drive out the overwhelming pain._

_Smoke and dust turned everything grey. Ferin reached out to the little hand. Just as her fingers brushed his, a segment of the remaining ceiling broke, and dropped like stone to pin her arm. Dragon fire alight on the wood, seared the skin. She screamed -_

Ferin gasped, sitting up quickly and clutching her right forearm with pale fingers. Sweat marred her brow and upper body, the tunic clinging uncomfortably to the skin of her back.

She'd thought that nightmare long buried.

"Ferin?" Vala called gently from the other side of the door to her room. "We're moving out.".

Ferin nodded, though her friend couldn't see. "Alright. Give me a few moments."

Ferin heard Vala murmur a soft assent, before her steps faded away down the hall. Ferin stood, still clutching her arm, and made her way to the washroom. There, she submerged her burning arm in cold water with a sigh. Once numb enough, she dried it, cleaned herself, and got dressed. The only thing she left off was the vambrace of her burned arm. Instead, Ferin pulled up the sleeve and secured it above her elbow. Some air might help the old wound. Armour donned, and coat draped over her other arm, Ferin left the room to find the others.

The halls were quiet at this hour. The twilight before dawn always struck Ferin as a strange, ethereal comfort. There was no one to watch you. No one yet ready to face the world; or, at least, none to be seen in such a place as Imladris.

She found them where they always were this past week; at their makeshift camp on the balcony on the outskirts of Lord Elrond's House. She stood watching them quietly gather their effects. Vala, who had stayed with them, unlike Ferin, had two packs ready to go. Her friend glanced up, smiling in greeting, before heaving the larger pack towards her with a heavy throw.

Ferin, surprised, dropped her coat and caught it with a small grunt. "I'm to be the pack mule then, I take it?" she asked with a raised eyebrow. She pressed her lips together to stop the smirk when she lowered the pack to the ground and revealed her face to Vala.

Vala laughed lowly, tempering her amusement lest it alert someone in the vicinity. They were trying to leave under the cover of the early morning. Vala's booming laughter may ruin their plans. "Of course. When have you ever not been the ass?"

Ferin shook her head with a smile. "Well, aren't you in a good mood this morning."

"Have to be. You're not going to do it. You've spent our precious time brooding."

Ferin frowned. That was partially true. After her… confrontation with Thorin, she had kept her distance for the remaining time of their stay. She had trained with Vala every day, but ate meals in her room. When the others managed to catch her, they asked why she wouldn't join them. Ferin suspected Thorin had told them all about their altercation, but when none of the others seemed different towards her, she had been surprised. Reluctant to create more tension, Ferin simply avoided the questions by claiming a need for space and rest. "We will have plenty of time to get to know each other on the way, I'm sure," she had said to Master Kili, a few days into her voluntary isolation. He had been trying to get her to train with him. A trade, he had said. He would help her with archery if she helped him with close combat. She had refused as kindly as possible, slapping him on the shoulder to soften the blow, before walking away.

She had not been far enough away not to hear Thorin's words that followed her. "You don't need to learn from the likes of her. Do not let her sway you. I'm sure Lady Vala would like someone to spar with, if you're so keen."

Gentle fingers wrapping around her burned wrist pulled Ferin back to the present, and she looked up to find Vala staring at the marred skin. Her friend looked up, brow furrowed. Ferin opened her mouth to brush away her friend's concerns, but Bofur beat her to it.

"Are you alright, lass?"

"I'm fine, Master Bofur. Thank you." Ferin gently pulled her arm out of Vala's grasp.

"Does it hurt?" Bilbo asked.

Ferin gave a solemn nod. "Sometimes, yes."

"How did you get it?" Ori asked, pausing in packing away his books.

Ferin hesitated. The others, having nearly finished cleaning up after themselves, stood straighter and watched. She flicked her gaze around to each of them, before looking back to Ori. "Dale. A very long time ago."

The air was so still. Ferin felt like they had all held their breath at once.

Thorin's voice came at last. "You... were there?"

Ferin regarded him, unable to read his expression. "I was," she answered. She looked down at her arm, remembering. "I tried to save as many as I could. My last attempt ended in the death of a small Dwarf boy. The roof collapsed, and he was… he was buried." She looked up once more. "When I left the building, my arm was useless. I couldn't help anyone else, so I walked. I... couldn't help but follow, when everyone fled. I had nothing else."

"Is that why you travel with us?" Dwalin asked roughly, his scowl fierce and unforgiving. "You seek what you are owed for your efforts?"

Ferin frowned, completely thrown by his sudden hostility.

"You seek to claim part of our home? As reward for your 'help'?" Thorin accused.

Ferin could only stare, before she huffed out a disbelieving laugh. "Of all my years, that is the most ridiculous accusation I have ever faced."

"You think it funny?" Thorin growled.

Unable to provide an appropriate response to their wild assumption other than, "Yes. I do," Ferin put on her coat and picked up her pack. She turned towards Thorin with a bemused smile. "Think what you will of me, Thorin Oakenshield. I don't care for gold or treasure, and I most definately don't care for a claim on your home. My services are to protect you and your kin, and I give you my word that I will do just that, and no more." Bowing politely, she kept her face neutral. "I will meet you all at the beginning of the path, when you are ready."

With that, Ferin spun on her heel and strode away. Too long without company, Ferin now recognised her foolishness. She had forgotten how quick people could turn.

It was times like these that made Ferin feel every one of her years.

 

*

*

_A/N: A short one I'm afraid. Thank you so much for your continuing support! Much love. - ZeB xx_


	11. Mortar

They arrived quietly, she noted in satisfaction. No one spoke, but they all began to make the trek up the path immediately. Ferin kept a watchful eye until Bilbo and Vala passed her before following. Several times, Bilbo turned his head to look at Imladris as they moved upward. Ferin always gave him a gentle push for him to pick up his pace. It wouldn't be long before the Elves realised they had left.

"Be on your guard," Thorin warned the group, stopping at the beginning of a new path, where the stone dropped away to a sheer edge. He pointed to the threshold of rock that marked the crossing into the wilderness beyond. "We are about to step over the edge of the Wild. Balin, you know these paths, lead on."

Once they crossed from the very limits of Imladris, Ferin slowed her pace to keep a fair distance behind. This would keep her far from Thorin at the head, but it gave her a vantage point for protection from the rear. The land opened out around them, dry grasslands that allowed a view of the Misty Mountains far ahead.

Ferin scanned their surroundings, resolutely keeping her gaze away from their destination. This part of their journey was what Ferin feared the most, but it was the quickest way East, before they ventured more North to Erebor. Gandalf claimed he would meet them there to accompany them across the Mountains.

Vala was ahead, walking with Bilbo and Bofur, glancing back at Ferin in varying intervals. Ferin chose to ignore it. They stopped twice to rest and have a light meal, and then moved onwards again. When they ascended the sloping land once more, the grasslands were slowly replaced by rock, hard on the feet but a better vantage point than the trees edging the grasslands.

Several hours of walking allowed the company to put as much distance between them and the Elves as possible.

Ferin looked up from navigating a part of the rocky path, taking notice of Vala now conversing with Thorin and Balin, all three changing their positions to allow Dwalin to lead. Balin was gesturing, and then patting Thorin on the shoulder, glancing back in Ferin's direction as Vala had done. Thorin shook his head, his shoulders tense. Vala then took up the gesturing, and Ferin had had enough.

Increasing her pace, she easily caught up. Balin and Vala ceased speaking immediately, trying to look innocent. Ferin growled. "I know you are discussing something to do with me. I dislike your gesturing. Stop it and move on, Vala."

"Me?"

Ferin frowned. "Yes, you. I know you're telling them things that are not yours to tell."

Vala scoffed, waving dismissively. "Don't be so – "

"Move," Ferin gave Vala's shoulder a shove. Vala scowled.

"Ah, lassie," Balin started, "I wish to apologise for earlier this morning. This journey can be tiresome – "

"Thank you, but your apologies are unneeded Mister Balin," Ferin said shortly, bowing her head in a quick acknowledgment. "It is I who should apologise. I should not have expected us to be more than strangers. Returning to my normal self had clouded my mind; I have neglected my duties. I will not do so again."

Ferin walked on. They had to spread out into a singular line when they came upon a path that lead under a waterfall. Vala tried to keep pace with her over the wet rocks. "I wasn't finished, you know. You can't just close yourself off again."

Ferin clenched her jaw, before climbing another small boulder. "I am not."

"You are! And will you slow down?"

"If you can't keep up, maybe you should have trained harder."

"Stop being so damn afraid. I know you were hurt before, but a lot of these men wish to be your friend. It doesn't have to be a job. Don't go back to the way you were!"

"I am no different."

"Yes, you've always been the cold bitch everyone makes you out to be," Vala said sarcastically, oblivious to how loud her voice was growing. "And will you  _please_  stop?" The path changed, opening out again at the end of the curved tunnel. They would have to take a break soon. If anything, they probably should have stopped to rest under the waterfall for shelter. She passed a stationary Dwalin, the Dwarf scowling at her.

"Exactly," Ferin responded, climbing ahead up the rock, unwilling to look at her friend. "Why shouldn't I be the person everyone thinks I am? It makes no difference if I am kind, or if I help them, or if I walk around with a Goblin skull on my belt."

"Ferin!"

Ferin grunted when Vala grabbed her pack and pulled. Ferin, unprepared, lost her grip on the stone and fell. She landed hard, but immediately set to unstrapping the heavy pack. She stood to find herself back at the exit of the tunnel.

Vala held her hands out in peace. "Being this close to the Mountains has you this way. I understand, Ferin, but you are not yet dead that you cannot change their mind. Peace, my friend."

"Peace? I will never know peace. They see what they want to see!" Ferin shouted, throwing a hand out to Dwalin and Thorin. "They see a traitor's scar! They see what they hear! A woman who betrayed her friends; ones she had called family."

"What are you talking about?" Fili asked carefully.

Ferin rounded on him, and laughed harshly. "Have you not heard the story from your uncle? I would have thought he would have told you by now."

Balin cleared his throat when Fili went to answer in his confusion. "Not now, lad. This has been building for a while, I'd wager. Let it out, lass. All that builds like poison in your veins. Better release it now, than when we're too far ahead."

"What more should I do, Vala? Should I pierce my chest with a blade and open it so they can see inside? Let people see a monstrous heart that beats like theirs? One that has been broken beyond repair? I could bare my soul, and no one would care one whit about it. They would spit on it and laugh, and leave me to bleed to death."

Vala looked grief-stricken, and it made Ferin deflate a little. "It does not matter what I have done, or what I do," she explained carefully, willing her friend to understand. "I will be accepted nowhere, and I have known this before I even met you, before you were even born. The Ferin you knew that was happy was drunk all the time. We will finish this journey, and I will leave you to your life. You should be around me no longer."

Ferin looked away, finally realising that the others had set their things down with the intent of a break. In an effort to escape their stares, Ferin offered to trek back to collect water. 

**

For the two days it took to reach the base of the mountain pass Gandalf had told them to traverse, Ferin did nothing but eat, rest, and take her turn for watch. The land changed from grassy knolls to the grey slate of the rising terrain. Vala attempted to talk to her several times, but Ferin stayed silent.

On their last rest before they ventured up, Ferin sat on a flat rock at the edge of the group, overlooking their next leg of the journey. Her small portion of Lembas bread felt heavy on her tongue, but she chewed determinedly, eyes on the beginnings of the path. It curved up along the face of a Northern peak, before disappearing around a bend into a deep valley. The last she had heard of the Goblins that lived in the Mountains, they were raiding those who travelled on these paths. Gandalf had warned them of rumours that the creatures had forgone this practice, but there was no way to know for sure until they came upon them.

A shuffle of rock underfoot alerted her to Balin's arrival by her left. The older Dwarf glanced up and sighed. "Looks like we might hit a storm soon."

Ferin followed his gaze to the pregnant clouds to the South, rolling over the points and hills of the Misty Mountains. "A day perhaps. Maybe less," she offered.

He hummed in agreement.

Not long after, they gathered their things and moved on. Ferin kept pace with Bilbo, until they had to gradually lengthen their line to stride single file up the ever narrowing path. It was evening when they stopped, having no alternative of shelter from the increasing wind other than a small overhang. The path was a little wider here, the overhand deep and curved. Everyone huddled together. The sky was darker than they had expected. The clouds to the South had finally meandered close enough to block out the rising moon. Light was now scarce. They would go no further tonight.

Ferin placed her pack against the wall, and walked to the edge, mindful of any loose stone. So far, she had found no evidence of Goblins, but it was typical of them to attack further up when travellers would likely settle for another respite.

"See anything?" Vala asked her. The larger woman was crouched low, and slowly making her way through a piece of her own Lembas bread.

Ferin looked to the clouds again. "The storm will be on us by early morning. We'll have to fight through it."

"Nothing else?"

Ferin shook her head, turning to face the path. "No. I can't see too far ahead. It's a blind spot, and far too dark." She returned to the group. She found a spot a little farther ahead than Thorin. There, she slid down against the wall to sit on the cold stone. Fixing her sleeve, she asked Vala to pass her her vambrace from her pack. Her friend did so, and she covered her burn. It had taken a few days, but the ache had passed, and she would need it to traverse the sharper rocks ahead of them. "I'll keep first watch."

It was the wrong thing to say. Thorin tensed, and he stood to walk to her position. "You will not."

Towering above her, he made a dark, dangerous figure. Ferin slipped her favoured dagger from her boot, and held it to him, handle first. "How about we both take first watch? You may take my life with my own weapon, should you feel I endanger your kin. Would that satisfy your temper?"

He growled, but Ferin remained where she was, eyes holding his and hand stretched up to present her dagger. After a pregnant moment, he took it, rumbled something she didn't understand, and then sat with half a foot of space between them.

The night grew long. In time, the others settled to sleep as best they could. Ferin sat in silence. Thorin remained stoic for about an hour before he relented and let his curiosity take over. He held her blade aloft in an effort to see it's design.

Ferin cleared her throat softly. "It's plain, for the most part. There is no personalisation. I bought it in Dale. I thought it looked nice, and I've always admired your peoples ingenuity. Even if it's -"

"A minors knife," he finished for her, running a thumb along the edge.

"Yes."

Once his curiosity was sated, he rested his forearms on his knees and searched the darkness for any potential danger. Ferin did the same. The wind picked up, and it was cold.  _At least it would keep us awake,_ Ferin thought. To keep the worst of it at bay, she pulled up the hood of her coat. She saw movement and looked to find Thorin tugging ineffectually at his own. It was caught on the lip of a rock at his back. Ferin shifted to lean towards him to help, only to find her knife at her throat. Hands outstretched at his shoulders, she pressed forward a little bit to reach his hood. He watched her warily, until his features were shadowed when she gently settled it over his head. She moved away to resume her spot, wiping away the warm trickle of blood from the nick he'd given her.

They remained in silence until Bombur came to relieve them. Ferin sat curled up in his warm spot and closed her eyes. She was on the verge of sleep when someone pressed hard against her side. Jostled, she opened her eyes to find Thorin invading her space. He folded himself to fit against her side, and settled. Confused and tired, Ferin just watched him curiously.

"I'm not letting you out of my sight," he murmured. He pulled his hood lower to protect his face, and shifted a little so his back faced the wind, and Bombur further out. Ferin was grateful for his mistrust, for his position kept a fair portion of the wind from her, and his shoulder was at a good height for her to rest her head on the fur of his coat.

He became as hard as the stone around them when she did so, and Ferin sighed. "I just want to sleep. You can kill me in the morning, if you are so inclined." When he remained solid, she raised her head and glared at the shadow under his hood. "I might as well have my head on a rock."

He said nothing, but gradually loosened his stiff stature. Ferin rested her head back on his shoulder, and was asleep in a few minutes. 

** 

If Ferin didn't know better, she would swear the rain sliced through their skin skin like daggers of ice. The only evidence missing were the bloodied wounds from where it struck.

When she had awoken that morning to the first sharp drop on her cheek, she had jerked in surprise. Thorin tensed beneath her, grabbing the back of her coat to haul her back when she stood. "It is only rain," he grunted, when she lost her balance and fell into his side. He was right, but what started as a few drops, soon became a torrential downpour. It struck swiftly and unmercifully, and crawled into their clothes to soak them to the bone within the first half hour. They collected their things quickly, and continued on.

Ferin's hands felt both too raw and numb at the same time, the rock tearing at her skin on every placement of her hand, but she dared not let go lest she get blown off the edge.

The thunder bellowed through to her bones, and the lightning nearly blinded her with every flash. She could barely hear Thorin's shouts to hold on, and witnessed Bilbo's brush with death when he lost his balance. Thank the Gods Dwalin had quick reflexes.

"We must find shelter!" Thorin shouted, but it was forgotten with Dwalin's cry of " _MORTAR!_ "

A enormous hunk of stone sailed through the air before striking the mountainside above them. It shattered instantly. The remains rained down upon them. Ferin pushed herself in with the others against the wall.

"This is no thunderstorm! It's a  _thunder battle_!" Balin yelled. "Look!"

Ferin would never truly be able to explain what she felt with what happened next. A mountainous creature, forged of rock, pulled itself away from the mountainside like it had been fused to it. It wrenched a boulder from its perch, and hurled it at another giant, the crack of stone on stone echoing over the rainfall. The second creature fell, but before they heard its impact, the very rock beneath them began to shift.

"Kili! Grab my hand!" Fili cried desperately, when the brothers were pulled apart. Ferin just managed to grab Kili's cloak before he overbalanced in his effort to reach his brother. Ferin could only watch in despair as Vala was separated from her. There was a grinding of stone and a haunting cry above them; a stone giant waking to join the game.

He was knocked back by another before he was even standing, his head crushed on one side, his body falling backwards where it crashed into the mountain. Ferin scrambled for purchase as they tilted, the giant's knee swinging towards another ledge with a sharp jerk when it connected. Thorin made a leap to the ledge, the others following. Ferin shoved Kili ahead of her, just managing to jump before the giant stood once more. She landed painfully.

"Ferin!"

They could only watch as the colossal beasts swung at each other, the rest of the company hanging on for their lives. It wasn't long before another stone figure hurled a boulder, knocking off the head of the giant their friends were stranded on.

Ferin felt useless, and prayed to whoever would listen that they would make it.

The creature buckled, having lost his head completely, his leg bending towards the mountain. The shuddering impact made her teeth ache, and her stomach drop. She ran forward, but was stopped by Thorin. She gripped his arm and shoulder from behind in her effort to see the others.

"No!" he cried.

_Don't let them be –_

They ran forward to find them alive and unhurt, picking themselves up from their ordeal. Ferin felt dizzy with relief.

"Where's Bilbo?" Bofur cried. "Bilbo! Where's the Hobbit?"

"Bilbo!"

"Bilbo!"

They heard a cry, and found him hanging over the cliff, eyes wide and fingers white. Fili lunged for him when he lost his grip, but didn't have the angle to pull him up. The others tried to reach but he was panicking, free hand unable to grasp the ones offered to him.

Suddenly, Thorin leapt down to a thin ledge, and shoved the Hobbit up into the arms of Bofur. They pulled him up to safety, only for the ledge to crumble beneath Thorin. He dropped, his only saviour being Dwalin's quick reflexes.

Ferin fell to her knees and reached for his free hand. He grasped it, and she pulled with Dwalin to get him on his feet back on the path.

"I thought we lost our Burglar," Dwalin panted.

Thorin sent a dark look to the Hobbit. "He's been lost, ever since he left home." He looked away and shook his head. "He should never have come. He has no place amongst us."

Ferin closed her eyes, breathing to calm the rush of blood thumping around her body. They'd almost lost half their company, and he was being petty.

"Dwalin!" Thorin called, jerking his head towards a crack in the mountainside. Dwalin went to his call, and they disappeared inside.

Ferin hesitated beside Bilbo. She didn't know what to say to the little Hobbit, unsure whether her council was welcomed or valuable.  _I have never overcome judgment and prejudice, so what could I say to ease his worries?_

She sighed. "Come. Let's get in out of the rain, at the very least."

He nodded, and took her offered hand to rise. 

** 

The cave was checked carefully, the bedrolls were laid out, and everyone settled for an uneasy night. Bofur took first watch, but Ferin found she could not sleep. Caves in the Misty Mountains made her nervous. Tension in the company made her tired. In the quiet, Ferin found herself facing Thorin. He was turned toward her on his side, but he seemed to be asleep. Ferin could only stare at him for a while, sitting in the sand, knees bent and elbows resting on them. Gandalf was supposed to meet them soon, but she had overheard Thorin's words that 'plan's change'. Ferin rolled her eyes.

Her hair was flattened slightly for a change, she noted, tugging absently on the wet strands. There was a chill in the air but little could be done.

A small nudge on her boot made her look down. Vala's foot rested by her ankle and, looking up to see her friend's face, she saw she was awake and watching her silently. The larger woman smiled gently, nudging her ankle again and Ferin knew that she was just trying to connect with her. She reached down and squeezed her friend's calf fondly, before patting it. Vala nodded once, and then turned her head away to rest.

Tired and bored, Ferin tried sleeping. She stretched out and placed her booted feet upon the rock where Thorin slept, the soles of her boots nearly touching his shins. A few minutes later, Ferin pretended to doze when she felt the Hobbit silently step over her form. When he passed, only to be caught by a watchful Bofur, she opened her eyes to see Thorin listening to their conversation. She couldn't really place his expression, but thought it might be bordering on regret. For what, she wasn't sure. Perhaps regret that he hadn't tried harder to deter the Dragon from their home, or regret that he was not strong enough to take his people to a place they could call a new home. Perhaps it was even regret for how he treated the Hobbit. Who knew what it was, but regret was a feeling she knew well.

Just as she thought this, he looked up, and startled slightly at being caught out. They kept their eyes locked for a moment, but neither made any expression or movement. They simply stared as if trying to see past the walls, but could not…

There was a grinding sound, faint, but wholly unnatural. Ferin frowned, and for the singular beat of her heart, she was confused, and then she wasn't.

"Get up!" she gasped. " _Get up! Get up, wake up, up up up get up!"_  She shot to her feet and slapped Vala's side, before turning and grasping Dwalin's coat. They woke with a shout.

The hiss of sand was barely audible, but the sight of it slipping down a wide crack in the floor was unmistakable. Ferin turned to the entrance they'd come in and tried to run, only for floor to open up beneath them to swallow them whole.

 

*

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_A/N: I felt the last chapter was a little too short, so had to post the next one. ZeB xx_


	12. Tortured Past

The impact of the stone tunnel rattled her teeth, and forced the breath from her lungs. For several moments in which she twisted and turned on the rough walls and ledges, sliding and knocking into the others without any bearing on where they were, Ferin couldn't draw in enough air. She only managed a gasp when she collided with Bombur, just before the tunnel evened out to launch them through a jagged, yawning hole, where they landed in a metal contraption shaped like a gory fly trap.

Ferin landed hard on her back. A sharp pain lanced up her spine, but there was no time to groan before some of the others landed as well. Legs trapped, and fingers raw from trying to grip the walls of the tunnel, Ferin struggled to get free. " _Get up!_ " she croaked. "Up,  _now!_ "

All at once, there were screeches, howls, and grunts echoing all around them. Clawed hands tore at her clothes and skin, pulling her onto her feet, while the other vile creatures clambered and leaped over to attack the Dwarves and Bilbo.

Ferin did the only thing she was capable of in this situation: she panicked. Grabbing the nearest grotesque ear, she twisted hard and pulled. There was little resistance. Something howled, and warm wetness dashed across her fingers. In response, one of the Goblins leapt onto her back, angular feet digging into her sides, gnarled hands ripping at her hair. With a pained shout, Ferin grabbed the nearest part of it - a skinny arm -, and turned to hurl it away. It soared over the edge with a fading cry down into the dark cavern below.

For several seconds, all Ferin did was kick, scrape, tear, and roar, until finally one of them had enough sense to loop a rope around her neck. She tried to work her fingers under before it pulled tight enough to damage, but another Goblin yanked her hand away and wound another length rope around her wrist. Pressure increasing around her neck, Ferin twisted her wrist, coiling the cord around her arm, and pulled. The Goblin jerked towards her with a shriek, and she used the momentum to kick it into one of its mates. Her arm wasn't free for long. With the press of the swarm, soon all her limbs were immobilised, stretched between ten of them with nowhere near enough give to get loose.

"Ferin!"

Ferin strained to look to Vala. Her friend was being shoved close to the edge by the sheer amount of bodies on the thin outcropping of rock, but Vala paid them no mind (bar an odd fist to one of the creatures face). The larger woman could only focus on her. "Don't let them take you," Ferin rasped. "Fight them!  _Fight them, Vala._ "

Small, gnarled hands lifted her. They gripped and twisted Ferin's knees and ankles, pulled her arms and tightened their hold until all she could utter was a choked grunt. No matter how she resisted, kicked, bowed her back, or pulled at her bonds, her feet didn't touch the ground, and her hands could find no purchase.

 _A fly in a spider's web_.

The Goblins pushed and shoved the others, ushering them along walkways and bridges that looked like a child's toy matchstick town, until they finally arrived at the centre. Lanterns, torches, and all shapes and forms of the hideous creatures gathered along the crude wooden platforms surrounding a cavern. Wooden spokes forked out like huge splinters, supporting overpasses and long spines of pathways in ill repair. For a horrible, terrible, hopeful moment, Ferin believed she was in a nightmare.

A horn sounded far above them. Clinks and clanks of what sounded like pots and pans followed, before she heard the familiar wretched voice of the Goblin King. His voice carried over them as he began to sing to his cohorts. On and on he went about the tortures he upheld for those who came into his kingdom. The surrounding Goblins around the cavern walls joined in when they deemed it appropriate, the ones that forced them along the path adding to the din, all the while traipsing up the winding walkway to a protruding spike of rock in the centre. There sat the King's throne.

Their captors stopped at the edge, and crowded around the company while they sang. When it was over, the King boasted that the song was of his own devising, and her companions objected to its quality fiercely. The Goblins didn't take kindly to that. Ferin, to one side at the back, was dropped without care, and then pinned while the filthy creatures began burrowing through her clothes to strip her of her weapons.

One particularly greedy Goblin sneaked away from the others to examine her swords intently.

The Goblin King quickly moved off his throne, squashing the smaller subjects that served as a living step. Baubled staff poking the air, he leaned forward to eye them all. "Who would be so bold as to come armed into my kingdom?" he growled. "Spies? Thieves? Assassins!?"

"Dwarves, your malevolence," a Goblin in the front said promptly. Ferin couldn't see him, but she expected he had dipped his head towards his King.

" _Dwarves?_ " the King replied incredulously.

"Found them on the Front Porch."

"Well don't just stand there!  _Search_  them! Every crack! Every crevasse!"

"Get your damn little hands out of my crevasses!" Vala shouted, and Ferin heard a thump, a crack, and a yelp.

The Goblins pulled Ferin up. Their hold loosened while they rooted around her sides for more. Ferin sucked in a breath and let them, having nothing of value that they hadn't already taken.

With the noise of high pitched chatter, the thumping rush of blood in her ears, and foul stench burning its way through her nose and into her lungs, Ferin felt her mind begin to darken.

A haze slowly encroached on her vision, and Ferin thought that maybe she was entering a dream. She had experienced this once, a long time ago, in a dark back room of an Inn filled with strange smelling smoke. She drifted for a moment, watching everything unfold before her.

The chaos quieted. The King spoke, his jowls swinging with each word. Eyes yellowed and squinted, he climbed over his subjects up to his throne and gazed at them curiously. "What are you doing in these parts?"

No one answered.

Óin stepped forward, confident that he could handle the situation, but he claimed (with a bit of an edge to his voice) that the King would have to speak up since 'his boys flattened his trumpet'.

The Goblin King swelled up in anger, stomping forward and threatening to flatten more than that if he didn't get the truth.

Bofur rushed forward to interrupt, but helped no one when he began a hasty explanation of paths that became sidetracked too quickly for the Kings patience.

"Shut up!" he bellowed, leaping from his seat. Ferin trembled, and all but the Dwarves shrank under his fury. The enormous King shook his finger at them, before turning to entertain his audience. "If they will not talk, then we'll make them  _squawk_! Bring up the Mangler! Bring up the  _Bone Breaker!_ "

He turned back to the Dwarves, and eyed Ori gleefully. "Start with the youngest."

"Wait!" Thorin shouted roughly, making his way to the front and facing the Goblin King.

Ferin felt something tighten in her chest.

"Well, well, well," the King said mockingly, taking a step back to admire his sudden, delightful find. "Look who it is. Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór;  _King_  Under the Mountain." His chin wobbled grotesquely when he bowed in false respect.

Thorin said nothing, thankfully, holding his stance and remaining composed.

"Oh! But I'm forgetting!" He raised himself back up. "You don't  _have a mountain._  And you're not a King, which makes you... nobody, really."

Goblin and Dwarf King stared at each other for an infinitesimal moment. Ferin swallowed. Thorin's presence meant nothing more to the Goblin King than entertainment. A slow perusal of the Goblins around her, and Ferin thought they were oblivious enough not to notice if she slipped from her bindings.

The King's expression changed; one of realisation and greed came upon him, and he voiced his new thought aloud. "I know someone who would pay a pretty price for your head... Just a head," he clarified with amusement. "Nothing attached. Perhaps you know of whom I speak?"

Ferin could not see Thorin's face, but the tense line of his shoulders gave him away. She worked her wrists free, using the Goblin King's next words to drown out the soft slap of the ropes falling beside her.

"An old enemy of yours... A pale Orc, astride a white Warg."

"Azog the Defiler was destroyed," Thorin said severely. "He was slain in battle, long ago!"

"So you think his defiling days are done, do you?" He giggled manically. "Send word to the pale Orc," he told a little Goblin on a swinging chair by his throne. "Tell him, I have found his prize."

The little creature chuckled, and after finishing his missive on a scrap of dirty parchment, he turned into the swing of the chair when it glided away down a darkened tunnel.

"I think I'm going to have fun with all of you, and I'll start with you, mighty King under the Mountain!" The large Goblin chuckled, glancing eagerly at them all. He smiled, his crooked teeth rank and blackened with decay.

Amidst the cries and cheers, and the Goblin King's laughter, they all heard the rumbling of the torture devices making their way through the network of tunnels.

Some of the larger Goblins, still no higher than Thorin, rushed forward to grab him, pulling him forward to isolate him from the rest. Thorin struggled. So did the others, cursing, shoving, and lashing out to no avail.

Ferin closed her eyes. A deep inhale, a focused exhale, and she pulled and yanked the rope from around her neck, and dropped to a crouch to rid herself of the ones around her ankle. Surprised, the Goblins just watched her as she shoved her way forward through the throng of Dwarves and wretched Goblins. She snarled at the desperate creatures who got in her way. When she reached Thorin, a swift kick to one of the creature's arms broke the appendage. He released the Dwarf, howling in pain. She bellowed wordlessly at the other Goblins holding him. Wide-eyed, they backed away quickly.

The cavern quieted. Ferin straightened and stilled as much of her shaking limbs as possible. Eyes roving over the situation, the Goblin King stepped closer, lowering himself into a half bow to peer at her. Ferin had to discreetly hold her breath at the smell of his hot, sweat-slick skin. He squinted at the scar on her temple. After a moment, he began to laugh; a hearty, mocking, disbelieving laugh. The others followed, unsure, but enjoying the moment. He backed away, clutching his great belly, and pointed at her as if she was an enormously funny joke.

Ferin stood her ground, clenching her fists. Thorin moved behind her. She didn't turn. She  _couldn't._

"You – you – " the Goblin King stuttered in his amusement. After several minutes of this he calmed, waving at his subjects to do the same. " _You,_ " he smiled. "Oh, I thought I'd never see you again. What a lovely sight. And what  _are_  you doing here, my dear? I thought I'd seen the last of you after that little...  _incident_ we had. How is your lover boy, then, hmm? Off cavorting with whores instead of you? Oh, what was his name?"

"His name was Tycyn, and no," she ground out. "He is long dead."

"Oh? Surely not," the disgusting beast said, clutching a gnarled and greasy hand over his heart with mock remorse. The King new well that Tycyn had been of the Race of Men. "But he was such a clever man. I gave him his reward. Did he not…" The Goblin King trailed off, features slowly falling to a frown. Humming, eyes roving back and forth over air, he thought. "No," he murmured. "No, no. My memory has failed me. I'm missing something. He was going to use his gold to buy protection, hmm?"

"Aye," she agreed. "They died with him."

"Ah, yes, yes. I remember now! You threatened to seek him out. Tell me details! Did you kill him slowly for what he did to you and your kin?"

"It was swift. It was more than he deserved." And it was, but Ferin hadn't been able to bring herself to torture him. That night had been one of profound regret, and no matter what he had done, torture had never come easy to her. If she had followed through on her original plan to prolong the man's death, she would not have been able to live with herself.

"How disappointing," the King drawled, standing haughtily and adjusting the grip on his staff. "Why is it that you are here then?"

Ferin hesitated, looking down to the floor. "I had nothing left after him... so I chose to live by his ways. My bitterness has run too deep, and I no longer care to be near the Race of Men." She swept a hand back across the others, not daring to turn and face them. "I have brought these Dwarves to you, to garner safe passage through your mountain, if you would let me."

The uproar from the Dwarves was loud, and the pure fury she felt from behind her felt like a physical burn on her neck.  _Traitor. Bitch. Her plan all along. We shouldn't have trusted her! Betrayal._

Vala's voice, the only one supportive and pleading for her friend, was nearly lost in the noise.

The Goblins laughed.

Ferin grit her teeth, and returned her hand to her side, squeezing her fists tight enough that her ragged nails cut into her palm. It was a long shot, but it might buy the others some time to think of a way out.

A tight grip on her arm forced her to turn sharply. She lashed out immediately, shoving Thorin away and back towards the others. "Know your place,  _Dwarf_!" she growled. Ferin turned away quickly, feeling the bile creeping up her throat when the Goblins laughed again at her treatment of the King who was not a King. "Will you allow it?" she asked of the Goblin leader.

He paced, and hummed, and grumbled, before stopping to stare at her, not looking convinced. "Why should I believe you?"

"You shouldn't," she agreed. "But why else would I be here? I had no desire to come back to this place. Why would I do so now?"

"Hmm, that is true, I suppose. Where do you travel to?"

"I don't know. I only know that I'm no longer welcome where I reside with this mark I bare, so I seek a new home, far away from this land."

The King chuckled, leaning forward once more. His thick finger was close enough to graze her scar. Ferin jerked her head to one side, not withholding the disgust on her face. Behind them, the large machines of torture were finally near, the rolling, thundering wheels placing strain on the wooden walkways and lesser Goblins backs.

"I remember fondly the moment he gave you that scar. You looked so betrayed. It was delicious! You were on the Bone Breaker were you not? Oh yes, I will grant you your request," he said, moving away from her again. "But I will do so after I have my  _fun_. Your screams were glorious when your limbs stretched!"

He laughed, and stomped, and began another song. His audience of subjects joined in as the devices finally reached the platform.

Ferin was grabbed roughly on both sides, and another Goblin forced her forward by pushing her lower back. They dragged her towards the Bone Breaker.

Someone was screaming. It wasn't until her throat was raw that Ferin realised it was her own begging pleas.

The contraption loomed large and ominous. The straps were worn, but strong, and covered in dried flakes of dark blood.

"You are strong enough to resist!" Vala shouted behind her. "You have beaten them before!"

 _No._ All Ferin could see were her memories, and all she could feel was the pain from when last she had been here. Weeks and weeks of pulling her apart, of cutting enough to bleed but not die, of being on the receiving end of the long lash of a whip, of subtle points of knives stabbing little and often, of bone breaking under swinging hammers...

In the midst of her first session of torture, Tycyn had laughed and carved a traitors mark into her flesh, before burning a crude brand around it. Within a day of making it, he had left with his prize of gold and trinkets, Ferin the only other survivor of his trap.

The story that everyone believed was that Ferin was the one who'd led her faction of guards through the mountain - their original intended destination a village on the other side needing protection - only to force her troupe through the High Pass where they had been ambushed by Goblins. All this for wealth. Those outside the mountain believed that Tycyn had been strong enough to overpower her before the creatures took him, and escaped when the Goblins took her instead of giving her the reward. But it was Tycyn who should have been branded a traitor, for it was Tycyn who had led them into a trap. It had been Tycyn who had forced Ferin to watch her soldiers be tortured and murdered in cold blood.  _All for gold._

The only thought to keep Ferin focused through it all was that she would find him, and kill him. And she had. After several weeks, when the Goblins grew bored of tormenting her, she had broken free, and raged through their lower tunnels until she escaped.

She couldn't go through it again. It would be the end of her.

Her saving grace came in the form of a screaming Goblin, and a clatter of metal when Ocrist was found and cast away like a red hot poker.

The Goblin King reared back, scrambling onto his throne.

"I know that sword!" he cried, pointing at the gleaming metal. "It is the Goblin Cleaver! The Biter! The blade that sliced a thousand necks." The Goblins around him shrieked, moving away quickly while others angrily lashed out at the Dwarves for daring to bring such a weapon into their kingdom. "Lash them! Kill them! Kill them all!"

The Goblins rallied together and grabbed whichever Dwarves were near, falling upon them in their fear and duty to their King.

" _Cut off his head!_ "

Ferin could only watch them swarmed upon Thorin, holding him down. One raised a sharpened bone, ready to arc down to spill the Dwarf Prince's blood -

A sphere of blinding light flared through the cavern. Ferin went down with the Goblins that held her. Stunned, she blinked at the high ceiling, until everything fell to darkness, before the lanterns were lit again as if by magic.

"Take up arms," came Gandalf's order. "Fight. Fight!"

The Dwarves, renewed by their ally, surged up and grabbed their weapons. The Goblins retaliated, swelling forward in their numbers to overwhelm the Wizard, but Gandalf was not deterred. He struck and sliced through all who tried to best him, and the Goblin King cowered on his throne. "He wields the Foe Hammer! The Beater! Bright as daylight!"

Ferin stood shakily, and stumbled towards her pile of weaponry. Before she could move more than three steps, she was rushed by the vile creatures. With a growl, she kicked one in the jaw, and backhanded one across the chest to send him flying off the ledge. With the many that fell, more took their place.

A sharp pain flared across her back when one Goblin drove a large bone-knife down her shoulder blade, splitting the skin in a ragged line. A quick thrust of an elbow to his nose jerked his head back, and he was lost to the swarm of his brethren.

Suddenly, Thorin was there, hacking through the Goblins surrounding her, until he was close enough to toss her exactly what she needed. She caught her swords with some effort, her right shoulder protesting the movement. Glancing up, Ferin found Thorin giving her a look she couldn't decipher.

"Thorin!" came Kili's cry. Thorin turned just in time to deflect the Kings staff. It bounced, the recoil throwing the huge creature off balance. He fell, taking some of his subjects with him.

Both blades on hand now, Ferin wasted no time in slashing her way through the throng.

"Follow me," Gandalf said sharply. "Quick!" He moved away without waiting for a response. The company followed without question to an empty bridge behind the throne that led to another part of the mountain. The walkways were numerous, like the far reaching vines of thick spider's web, and Ferin tried not to look at the sheer amount of Goblins flowing like a river through reeds towards them from every direction.

Lungs burning, and boots pounding hard with each step, Ferin ran. When she focused her attention off the weak path they were running full tilt on, she found herself beside Vala near the middle of their line of escaping warriors.

"Are you alright?" Vala shouted breathlessly.

"Fine," Ferin responded absently, quickly sidestepping and slicing through a Goblin in their way. Up ahead, Dwalin was bringing down several of the blighters, trying to clear the way forward. A loud roar, and he cut a rope holding part of the handrail, his fellows aiding him in using the wooden post like a battering ram.

When they burst through that group, another took its place. Several dropped sluggishly from the walkways above, already beaten by Gandalf and some of the others that had taken higher ground. It was never ending.

A few meters, more Goblins slain, and the two groups met up again to continue; slashing, thumping, and shoving the creatures off the walkway. Another short tunnel. Another section.. More Goblins.

Ferin was tiring, leaping over fallen Goblins, and swiping her blades in arcs and jabs, adding kicks to those who just wouldn't go down; her body was giving up. Hands slick from her own (and some of the Goblins') blood, she forged on through the haze that seeped up again.

This was too close to her nightmares.  _Too familiar._

They heard a screeching cry, and looked to see another group of them on the far wall ready to swing to aid their brethren.

"Cut the ropes!" Thorin cried. Ferin did without further thought, and the wooden path they were on tilted slightly as another part fell away, tangling in the swinging ropes and deterring the creatures. They moved on. Archers came towards them. Several missed their mark but one struck Vala in the shoulder. Before Ferin could say anything, her friend surged forward with a cry and shouted to move on, that it was only a flesh wound.

Kili and some of the others forced the Goblins back with a ladder, the same ladder creating a bridge across a large gap just further on. Ferin thought this was getting a bit out of hand.

It got worse. They came to a break in the path too large to cross.

Goblins cut the rope above - and they were suddenly swinging to the other side on makeshift platform.

"Oh for Nienna's sake!" Ferin cried, slashing her blade across a creature's neck before doing the same to another. "This is getting ridiculous!"

They swayed back and forth twice before they could all manage to leap to the other side, cutting off the Goblins from behind. On they went. They split up again before rejoining, Bombur nearly drowning in Goblins before the combined weight forced them down to another level.

Gandalf used his magic to separate a large boulder from its skin of stone on the mountain above them, Dwalin and Thorin guiding it down the pathway to crush anything in its path before they turned and continued down another way.

They could see it then; the way out. The last bridge before the sturdier stone passageway that would lead them to daylight -

Ferin cursed harshly when the Goblin King erupted from underneath, blocking their way.

"You thought you could escape me?" He growled, lashing out at Gandalf with his staff. "What are you going to do now,  _Wizard_?"

It was fairly anticlimactic, Ferin thought later, seeing Gandalf step forward, poke the King in the eye and slice his blade across his gullet.

"That'll do it," the Goblin King said, sounding fairly reasonable about the whole business, before Gandalf ran the same blade across his neck. The Goblin King collapsed. Unfortunately, his weight disturbed the last of the sturdy beams holding them above a large crevasse. There was a creak, and a whine. Ferin hastily sheathed her blades before the platform dropped from underneath their feet.

Ferin's stomach rose to her throat. Her boots lost their traction on the wood. She skidded into Gandalf, before falling into Thorin when they hit the side and tilted the other way. He wrapped a free arm around her waist like a band of steel, leaning sharply into the angle before the wood scraped along the rock, righting itself. They jolted, slid, and finally slowed a bit, before an almighty crash pinned them between the layers of wood they'd accumulated on the way down.

Surprisingly, they were miraculously intact, if a bit bruised.

Gandalf stood and brushed himself off. Ferin concentrated on breathing, and then looked for a way out.

"Well that could've been worse," Bofur said. Not a moment after, the Goblin King's body landed on them with a bone-crushing crack.

They all groaned.

"You've got to be joking!" Dwalin growled.

"Bofur?" Ferin said, heaving herself out with the aid of Gandalf. "You're a wanker."

He grinned through the pain, and they all began to dig themselves out. Ferin helped Vala, and the two women were brushing themselves off when Kili's loud yell alerted them to the swarming Goblins charging towards them down a sharp decline. The sound was like clicking beetles and howling winds. Without a King, there was nothing to stop them.

"There's too many! We can't fight them," Dwalin said, helping to get his comrades on their feet as quickly as possible.

"Only one thing will save us!" Gandalf bellowed, his fear almost palpable. "Daylight! On your feet!"

They ran through the tunnels, Goblins licking like fire on their heels. They saw the daylight streaming through an opening ahead. Gandalf stopped at the exit and urged them on, making sure all got through.

They emerged out into a forest, and blundered down the hill as quickly as their legs could carry them, until they were a safe distance away. They slowed, Ferin nearly rolling the rest of the way when her legs threatened to give out on her. Instead she leaned back, and slid to a stop on her backside.

There was a few minutes of quiet. Ferin closed her eyes and used it to catch her breath. Vala leaned forward, hands on her knees doing the same. Ferin trembled, and after a few minutes, her shoulder began to burn. The strain of fighting had aggravated it further, and she could feel the sweat and blood soaking through her tunic and coat.

"Are you alright?"

Ferin looked up to her friend. She grunted, quickly looking Vala over. The arrow was nowhere to be seen. "Are you?"

Vala smiled, turning her shoulder to allow Ferin to see a large gash across the muscle where her shoulder and neck met. "Flesh wound. As I said."

"Where is Bilbo?" Gandalf suddenly asked, tone urgent. "Where is our Hobbit?"

For a terrible moment, no one could answer. Ferin swallowed, looking around, until she forced herself to look back from where they came.

"Where is our Hobbit!?"

He was not with them. "Curse the Halfling!" someone growled. "Now he's lost?"

"I thought he was with Dori!"

"Don't blame me!"

"Well where did you last see him?" the Wizard asked, frowning and stepping towards the Dwarf.

"I think I saw him slip away when they first collared us," Nori offered, happy to give the information.

"What happened exactly? Tell me!"

"I'll tell you what happened," Thorin said accusingly, moving to be seen clearly by all. "Master Baggins saw his chance and he took it. He's thought of nothing but his soft bed and his warm hearth the moment he stepped out of his door. We will not be seeing our Hobbit again. He is long gone."

Ferin scoffed. "Where exactly, do you think we are heading to, Thorin Oakenshield?" she asked sharply. "What are you thinking of on our journey half way across Arda? Do you not think of  _home?_ "

Ferin went to stand, to go back to that horror just to be free of Dwarven stubbornness, when Bilbo appeared behind her. "No. I'm afraid I'm still here," he said simply, facing them all.

Bofur sighed in relief. He was the only one smiling happily.

"Bilbo Baggins," Gandalf laughed. "I've never been so glad to see anyone in my life."

"We'd given you up," Kili said in disbelief.

"How on earth did you get past the Goblins?" Fili asked.

"How, indeed?" Dwalin said suspiciously. Bilbo laughed it off and placed his hands in his pockets.

"Well, what does it matter?" Gandalf said, smiling and dismissing it quickly. "He's back."

"It matters," Thorin said quietly. "I want to know... why did you come back?"

Bilbo looked at him for a moment, looking like he had seen Thorin, had  _really_ seen him for the first time.

"Look, I know you doubt me. I – I know you always have. And you're right, I often think of Bag End," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "I miss my books. And my armchair and my garden. See, that's where I belong. That's home." He paused and looked at the others. "And that's why I came back. Because you don't have one. A home. It was taken from you. But I will help you take it back if I can."

The others said nothing, realising that this little Hobbit, who could have left for The Shire had not abandoned them; he had in fact, fought for his life to remain by their side to help them finish their journey.

Ferin silently looked him over. He looked a little rough around the edges, his buttons were missing, and his eyes were bright. There was no way he could have escaped without help, and Ferin remembered that Goblins were not the only ones who resided in those mountains.

She stood, and approached him. She smiled softly, and clapped him on the shoulder. "Well done, my friend."

 

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_A/N: Thank you for follows, favourites, and reviews! You're all gems. ZeB xx_

 


	13. Rescue

Ferin tensed when a howl split the air around them. 

 

“Out of the frying pan.”

 

“And into the fire,” the Wizard finished. “Run. _Run!_ ”

 

Exhausted, they pushed themselves to do as Gandalf advised, sprinting through the trees. Their speed was no match to the first wave of creatures. They were rushed by all sides,the company fighting them off with well placed hammers to the skull and arrows to the neck. Swords sliced at their legs and paws, but more took their place.

 

A Warg banked to the right to circle and block Ferin. Vala came to her aid, and between the two of them, it was defeated quickly. Unfortunately, they could move no further, their path cut off by the narrowing point of a cliff.

 

“Up into the trees! Quickly, all of you! Come on, climb! Bilbo, climb!” Gandalf cried.

 

Having been herded by the beasts towards the edge, Ferin had to run up the last and tallest of the trees, boots gripping the bark enough for her to leap and wrap her arms around the nearest branch. Hooking a leg over, she hauled herself up before ramming her swords into the bark. Quickly making sure they were secure, she sat and allowed her body to fall back to swing and help the others. Vala jumped up to grasp Ferin’s arms, using the momentum and her thick leg muscles to run further up the trunk once she was up. Ferin hissed at the pressure on her torn shoulder, but nothing could be done about it now. Dori was next. Ferin had to swing him up. Ori was the last, as Gandalf had made his own way, and the others had found trees of their own. Ferin spotted Bilbo - the last to climb - find purchase in the nearest tree, barely managing to climb high enough.

 

Ferin hauled herself up, watching the forest floor become a carpet of Wargs. Looking up, between the branches and on a thick flat rock, she locked eyes on a white Warg with a pale Orc seated on its back.

 

He began to speak in a terrible language. Ferin could only make out parts of it, having never dared to learn Black Speech, but she understood the mocking tone with Thorin’s name. The creature said something else, and then gave a battle cry. The Orcs and remaining Wargs launched into another attack.

 

The Wargs, having no way to climb, made mighty leaps at the trees, scraping the bark. They growled and snapped, thankfully unable to reach high enough to harm the company, but for several horrifying moments the trees rocked enough to unbalance the Dwarves.

 

Ferin swallowed against a dry throat when more of them appeared. The trees could only take so much. Great snaps of splintering wood echoed over the expanse of land below them. The ground buckled, roots tearing free from the earth. One after the other, the trees crashed into their neighbour, the company leaping from one to the other in a bid to escape the consequences.

 

Bilbo jumped towards Vala. She caught him mid air, his weight easily lifted to her branch. The others followed suit. Ferin found herself reaching for a falling Thorin. His weight wrenched her shoulder and she shouted with the pain, straining to hold him. Screaming through it, she pulled him up until he could get purchase of his own.

 

They were truly trapped now. No more trees, no more ground, no more safety. There was nowhere else to go, and Azog appeared to know it.

 

Out of the corner of her eye, Ferin could see a flame. Before she could gauge what it was, the Wizard threw it downwards in a bright arc of light. It struck a Warg, the creature yelping when its coat began to burn. A pinecone? "That clever Wizard," she breathed.

 

Gandalf lit more, tossing them down to the others, each one lighting more before chucking them to the forest floor. Several Wargs were set alight, and the dry leaves and twigs caught and burned, flaring larger to drive them away.

 

It was a short lived victory. The tree that bore their weight began to shift under them, losing its tentative grip on the soil. They began to fall towards the edge, some slipping off their branches to hang precariously over the land many miles beneath them. Ferin lost her footing, but grasped the branch with white knuckled hands.

 

Clinging desperately to her branch, fingers digging into the bark muscles straining, she glanced to her right to find Thorin hanging beside her. With a mighty heave, he pulled himself up. Ferin prepared to hold out a hand for him to help her, but he was too focused on Azog in the distance to pay any attention.

 

 _You’ve got to be joking_ , she thought, growling in the back of her throat. _You absolute fu –_

 

He stood carefully, unsheathing his sword and walking forward to challenge his enemy.

 

“If he survives that,” Ferin said to no one in particular. “I’m going to kill him myself.”

 

Ferin muttered some more before hearing Dori’s yell. He and Ori were hanging by Gandalf’s staff. Too high for her to help, and with no one to help her, Ferin forced her herself move. Ignoring the pain of her shoulder, Ferin strained to heave her body onto the branch, glaring at Thorin as he faced his assured death. _Bastard._

 

They were all exhausted, bruised, and cut up, and he was running off to face that creature. Blood raging through her, Ferin ripped her swords from the trunk, threw up a hand to brace against the fire that licked up around them, and surged forth. Once past the heavy heat, she sucked in a breath to prepare herself, body aching and head pounding.

 

The white Warg got to Thorin first, vaulting from the rock at the urgency of its pale rider. Thorin went down. The beast turned sharply, rounding on him again, where Azog used the momentum to clip the Dwarf heavily with his mace on the return.

 

The others cried out behind her, Dwalin calling for his fallen friend. Ferin heard a snap, and believed the branch beneath the warrior had given out. Bilbo moved to stand in front of her, silhouetted in the fire. Beyond him, she could see the great white beast wrap his crushing jaws around Thorin. She wouldn’t get there on time, not with her body refusing to move any faster.

 

Thorin bellowed, drawing his sword across to slice the beast on the nose. The Warg released him with a shake of its head, and Thorin sailed through the air. Another Orc joined Azog. It slipped off a Warg and moved towards the fallen King, blade unleashed.

 

Ferin tried to run towards them, but Bilbo got there first. The Hobbit screamed, attacked, and after his frenzy of killing the Orc, he turned to face Azog alone.

 

 _Not if I can help it._ A new feeling burned in her, something she hadn’t felt in a very long time. Ferin roared, charging down the trunk and into the fire. The others followed suit, energy renewed by the Hobbit’s bravery. Between them, they swarmed Azog and his Wargs.

 

It wasn’t enough. Bilbo fell, knocked aside by an Orc, and Azog was soon stalking towards him on his mount -

 

Ferin wished she could describe the feeling she had when the Eagles came. They swooped with loud cries, driving off the Orcs and toppling trees. Some fanned the flames while others bravely ensnared a Warg to drop them over the edge of the cliff.

 

Ferin was shoved backwards by a fleeing Orc. She lost her footing - there was a heartbeat of weightlessness, until she landed on one of the magnificent birds. Quickly placing her blades into the back of her coat for safe keeping, having lost her scabbards back in the Goblin Kingdom, she grabbed hold of the soft feathers and watched.

 

“Do not worry little one,” her Eagle called to her over the chaos. “You are safe.” He banked left and circled back around to grasp another of their companions in his talons before catching the hot air of the burning trees to gain height along with his companions. They circled to journey further out over the wilds below.

** 

The flew for hours in the cool night. When the dawn spread golden light across the sky, Ferin was able to regard her companions. The were worse for wear, but alive.

 

Fili cried out for his uncle. Thorin was unconscious, hanging limply in the great bird’s talons ahead.

 

“For your sake, I hope you’re not dead, Dwarf,” she muttered, unable to muster the energy to berate him.

 

“Things have a way of turning out for the better in times of need, little one,” her Eagle said sagely, drifting in the warm updraft created by the sunrise. Gaining more height by beating his wings, the Eagle eased into a gentle glide to bring her near his companion. There, she could see Thorin in the bird’s light grip. “He breathes for the moment. Do not upset yourself more until we land. It is a fair journey into the morn yet before we reach the Eyrie.”

 

Ferin’s grip on the Eagles feathers slackened at the mention of Thorin breathing. Her head felt stuffed and unfocused. When she reached up to rub her temple, her cheeks were wet. Unable to feel anything but exhaustion, Ferin sighed. “I’m getting too old for this kind of stress.”

 

The Eagle chuckled. “Aren’t we all.”

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_A/N: Thank you for the continuing support! ZeB xx_


	14. A Small Respite

The sun pierced the sky on the horizon, the air not yet fully warm from its rays. The Eagles travelled with ease over the land and waterfalls. When they finally soared over a mountain ridge, the land opened out into a large valley, a carrack within the heart of the surrounding mountain peaks.

The enormous birds gathered together in tighter formation, banking into the wind. The first to set down on the Eyrie was the one carrying Thorin. The great beast alighted on the rock as light as the feathers that allowed it flight. Once it released the Dwarf, it beat its great wings and moved away.

Thorin didn't move.

The Lord of the Eagles turned and set down to allow Gandalf to disembark from his back. The Wizard rushed to the Dwarf King. The Eagle flew away to keep careful watch while his brethren released their own charges.

"Thorin!"

Ferin's fingers were cramped, and her muscles were stiff and sore. Her Eagle landed carefully on the edge of the rock, careful not to dislodge any of the others in the company. Ferin slid down his shoulder. Unfortunately once her feet hit solid ground, her legs buckled and gave out. She grunted when the impact sent a shock of pain through knees. Exhaustion won out however, and she slowly sank back, feet folded under her.

Her Eagle released Vala, whom he had been holding in his talons. Vala stood beside her, watching Gandalf attend to Thorin. Her friend didn't seem to notice Ferin, but the Eagle seemed to have perceived her situation and gently nudged her with his dangerous looking beak. "Be safe, little one. I hope we meet again in better circumstances. Be well."

The great bird stood taller, spreading his wings to catch the wind so he could join his flock.

Staring blankly at the smaller form of the creature when he circled the Eyrie with his companions, Ferin could only startle at the commotion nearby.

"You. What were you doing?" Thorin panted, glaring at an alarmed Bilbo. Ferin frowned, unsure how she could have missed his awakening. "You nearly got yourself killed. Did I not say that you would be a burden? That you would not survive in the wild?" he asked, stepping forward to tower over Bilbo. The smaller man seemed to deflate a bit. "And you had no place amongst us?"

 _Bilbo had been brave_ , Ferin thought,  _braver than perhaps he'd ever been in his entire life._  Out of his depth and still forging into battle despite the odds, and here Thorin Oakenshield was, reprimanding him in front of the others.

Ferin scowled. Her pulse pounded like a hammer inside her skull, and her hands shook from all that had occurred in the last day. Goblins and Wargs, nightmares and old enemies, Eagles and a lucky escape. Her body was beginning to shut down, but the burning rage that was building in her stomach kept her focused for a moment more. Bilbo had saved his miserable, bitter, hide and he was already up and grinding the spirit out of him.

Bilbo looked hurt and contrite. Thorin allowed all of this to penetrate the little man's mind before releasing a breath of relief. "I have never been so wrong."

To say Ferin was stunned when the Dwarf King hugged him was an understatement.

_I'm going to kill him._

The emotional upheaval of the last few weeks was enough to drive any woman insane and Ferin felt she was well on her way there. So was so infuriated, that she nearly missed the sentimental moment unfold between the Dwarves and Hobbit, and could only see the faint dots of the departing Eagles as they went on their way out of the corner of her eye. She remembered the distant peak of Erabor as a haze when she thought about it later.

She just sat, sore and exhausted, and completely irate with the lot of them.

After a few minutes, Ferin got the distinct feeling that she was being watched. Warily looking toward the group, she found them all staring at her, except for Dwalin, who had moved across the small expanse of rock to tower over her.

There was a tense silence. Ferin sighed, resolved in the thought that she was now at his mercy. "If you're going to kill me, make it quick. I really don't have the energy to fight you," she said with a sigh.

He snorted, and, rolling his eyes, he thrust an inked hand out to her. It was calloused, filthy, but sturdy. Ferin was suddenly suspicious. Shouldn't he be shouting at her, or growling, for what she had done back in the Goblin city?

Impatient at her wandering mind, he gripped her coat and pulled her up much like Vala often did, but her legs couldn't support her. Luckily (Ferin debated this word later), the two young Dwarf brothers came to her aid quickly and flanked her either side, each placing an arm around her waist for support.

They smiled. Ferin would have preferred to be thrown off the edge by Dwalin.

"We always liked you, you know?" Kili began.

"Very much so," Fili continued. "We were angry with you, though."

"For your stunt in the Goblin Kingdom, you understand."

"Nasty business, trying to trade us off."

"But we'll forgive you!"

"Of course! Clever thing you did, you know."

"Wouldn't have known what you were doing if it wasn't for Bilbo and Uncle."

"The Trolls, if you remember?"

"Of course she doesn't remember, Fili. She was unconscious. And a dog."

"Oh, that's right."

Ferin was going to be ill from the back and forth chatter.

"Uncle Thorin realised what you were doing, and warned us off."

"Take it easy, boys," Balin said carefully, stepping towards them. Oin frowned at her, and Ori stepped back out of the line of fire should she throw up.

"No need to feel like that, lass," Bofur commented worriedly. "We do forgive you for it, honest."

The others murmured agreement, and even Dwalin gave a short, sharp nod.

"We'll make it up to you," Dori smiled, looking contemplative, but Ferin was too busy trying to hold in the contents of her stomach, which weren't much, considering they hadn't eaten properly in a few days.

Bilbo moved towards her, and canted his head to look at her expression carefully. Thorin was behind him quick enough, and they exchanged a glance.

"You look as terrible as I feel," Thorin said sincerely, amusement shining in his dark eyes.

Ferin gave him a look, still held aloft by his sister-sons. His mouth quirked to one side. It wasn't quite a smile but it was close. Ferin frowned.  _Did he hit his head?_

"We'll need to make camp at the bottom, I think," Gandalf mused, already making his way to the pathway of rough steps that circled down the carrack, seemingly oblivious to the Dwarf King's sudden camaraderie.

Some of the others followed. The young brothers attempted to steer Ferin in the correct direction. They wouldn't fit with the width of three along the path. Ferin had no desire to walk pressed against one of them and the rock wall, or one of them and the path edge. Her shoulder was sore enough and the brothers potentially pressing and wrenching her around was not a peaceful image.

They also never seem to stop talking once animated.

"I'll be fine under my own power," Ferin said quickly, gently slipping from their grasp. "I'm feeling a bit steadier. Go on ahead. I'll take my time."

They moved to argue but Thorin encouraged them on, taking a place of a barrier between them.

"Thank you," she murmured reluctantly, sidestepping to allow Bilbo to catch up to Bofur. She was steadier, but only out of sheer will to get down safely under her own power. Thorin nodded, and she noted his deliberate slow pace in front of her when they began to descend.

A half hour later, and they had made it halfway. Ferin could feel her muscles loosening a bit, her stomach settling, and her head easing into a softer rhythm than the banging drum it had been higher up. The air was better here, crisper in the shadows of rock.

She stumbled on a jutting edge but caught herself on Thorin's shoulders. He tensed and coughed to hide a grunt of pain, but Ferin had heard it. "Sorry."

"This seems familiar."

He was, Ferin assumed, referring to the time she had been returned to her own body, where she had clung to him when they took the passage to Imladris. Vala had told her a few days later that she had nealry brought him down with her when she passed out. Far from making her amused, as he seemed to be, Ferin frowned and took pace beside him, the path widening out as they neared the last leg.

"I don't think it is fair that you are making light of it," she said softly, using the distraction of where to put her feet to avoid his stare. He stopped, forcing her to do the same, and placed a heavy hand upon her shoulder, his intention to say something, she thought, by the look on his face, but he had placed it inadvertently on her wound. The burn was intense, almost forcing her to her knees.

"I apologise," he said hastily, removing his hand immediately. "I was unaware of your injury."

Ferin concentrated on breathing for a moment, clutching at her upper arm as if to stave off the pain further down, before replying, "It's fine. I'll clean it when we reach the base and set up camp." He began walking again. She looked at him, noticing for the first time that his deliberate slow pace may not have been for her alone. "I have a feeling you will have to do the same."

"I believe I will," he agreed. An awkward silence descended on the two for the remainder of the path.

**

Setting up camp was simple; they had lost most of their provisions in the Goblin Kingdom. Vala had suggested to press close to the rock wall in a clearing, the trees at the base of the carrack being a small comfort. To the left, some fifty feet or so away, there was a stream, and once they made bedding out of grass and their coats or furs, a fire was lit. Bombur (having miraculously managed to keep one of his pots) made stew from a few rabbits Kili had caught in the time it took them to set up.

The only one missing now was Gandalf, who had ventured off to find a friend the moment his feet hit flat earth.

Not even half an hour passed, after Ferin had claimed an area to bed down for the night, before she was approached by each Dwarf in turn with offers of forgiveness. Well, that's what she deduced it was. It was a bit of an odd affair.

"Can I help you with your bed?" asked Fili, thumbs hooked in his belt, with a roguish smirk adorning his face. Ferin raised an eyebrow, and huffed in amusement when the young Dwarf got a smack on the back of the head by a passing Dwalin. Fili, now knocked of his confidence, sheepishly moved away.

"Can I offer you tea?" Dori asked next, smiling hopefully with his hands on his hips.

"I...um..." Ferin wasn't a huge tea drinker. "That will do nicely, Master Dori. Thank you. Perhaps I will have it after I bathe."

He seemed pleased, and began insisting on her calling him by his name. "I believe titles are unnecessary at this stage." Ferin dipped her head in agreement.

Just as she was fixing her torn coat into a more comfortable arrangement for bedding material, Bifur and Bofur approached.

"Would a story and some music interest you later this evening, my fair lady?" Bofur asked cheerfully, his flute twisting eagerly in his fingers. Bifur signed, growling something in his own language. Ferin blinked. Bofur translated. "He wants to make you something. He's very handy with a knife."

"That's... very kind. I would be appreciative of whatever you would like to give." Bofur smiled, Bifur grunted, and they turned away, heads pressed close to discuss whatever it was they wanted to discuss.

Ferin dropped her coat with a sigh. Crouched low, she scratched under her chin.  _This is a little overwhelming._  It was a lot of attention in a very short amount of time, especially after recent strained relationships.

At a loss as to what to do about it, Ferin continued to make her bed. Once done, she removed her weaponry - she would have to rig up something to hold her swords - and began to make preparations to bathe and clean her wound. Before she could do so however, Ori came to offer his services as a scribe ("I would like to tell your story!") and to sketch her likeness so all would remember her, Nori offered his teachings to be a thief and flautist, and Bombur suggested taking up some of his teachings to cook some Dwarvish popular dishes.

Dwalin offered to think of an appropriate tattoo, eyeing her burned forearm critically. Refusing, she thought, would probably be offensive, and Ferin didn't see her chances as fair against the brutish, burly Dwarf.

Kili offered to show off his archery skills. It took several minutes of biting her lip and hiding her expression to calm her amusement. When she thought she was sufficiently composed, Ferin cleared her throat. "That is very nice of you, Kili, but I am already impressed by your skill. You have killed many a rabbit, Goblin, Warg, and Orc in our journey. I would ask no more of you."

Kili seemed to inflate with happiness, striding in the direction of his brother to tell of her praise. Ferin smiled.

Oin's offer was to leave her in peace, the grumpy Dwarf happier at this for his own sake as for hers. Gloin attempted to offer a sharing of stories with her by the fire later, his hands stroking his beard. When he began to talk of his son, Balin came to her rescue and she accepted his unofficial offer of being a deterrent to the talkative Dwarf.

Vala approached her, laying out her furs on the grass beside Ferin's. Ferin watched her fondly, knowing her friend was keeping her head down intentionally, avoiding looking at a certain Dwarf in particular across the camp.

This continued for several minutes until Ferin sighed. "You don't have to do that, you know."

"Hmm? Do what?"

"I am not wanting for company. Keep company of whoever you desire, Vala."

Vala looked up in shock, freezing in her arrangement of a grassy pillow. Ferin laughed softly.

"I am not blind, my friend. If you wish to keep Dwalin company, I will not stop you," she murmured discreetly. "If it is mutual, I am happy for you, and all I wish is for you to be happy."

"I... "

Ferin looked at her closely. "It is mutual?"

Vala looked down before glancing at the Dwarf across the fire. "I am unsure. He seems... well, there has been a fair amount of conflict. And I want to kill him sometimes."

Ferin had never seen her friend so unsure. "I think, perhaps, you should talk to his brother. Balin may be able to offer some advice. I think there is only one time in our lives that we truly feel for another. I believe it is always worth trying."

Vala blinked, stood quickly, and embraced her friend. Ferin winced at the pressure but patted the larger woman on a thick shoulder. "Go on then."

Vala released her, gathered her things, and moved off to choose another place closer to Balin and Dwalin.

Ferin sighed, finally free of everyone. Now, she could bathe.

 

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_A/N: I apologise for the late late update. A few personal things happened and I am slowly getting back on track. Hope you enjoy and thanks for sticking with me. ZeB xx_


	15. Some Old Wounds Still Sting

Daylight would soon fade, so Ferin ventured off into the trees as soon as she was able, letting Bilbo and Bofur know where she was going when she passed them at the edge of the camp. The Hobbit looked more relaxed now; sitting on a rock and listening to Bofur tell stories.

Having nothing to bring with her except the clothes on her back, Ferin had no forethought to call out to anyone else that could be at the stream. When she emerged from the trees, she was surprised to find Thorin carefully attempting to remove his tunic.

Ferin approached loudly, seeing him tense at the noise. There was no way he could know it was her, so his wary expression was expected when she helped him ease it over his head.

Folding the cloth carefully and placing it on the grass, Ferin eyed him with a raised eyebrow.

"You didn't think to call for anyone?"

He grunted, clenching his fists at his sides, looking quite conscious of the fact that he was bare from the waist up. "I am more than capable."

Ferin's eyes travelled from his face to his wounds without pausing in between. Other than the small cut across his nose and cheek, he had a large gash on his left side along his ribs where it extended across his belly, and several puncture wounds; one on his right shoulder, one on his upper left arm, and one on his left thigh, made obvious by the torn leather and crusted blood on his leggings. "Of course," she acquiesced.

He frowned and gestured to her shoulder with a flick of his hand. "And you will fair better?"

She blinked, and had to tilt her head in acknowledgement. She had come alone after all, and her own tunic was stuck fast against her skin. She could feel it pull and catch when she moved. Licking her lips, she flicked her gaze around the area, noting nothing but trees, water, and rocks. "We are at a bit of an impasse then."

"It would appear so."

A moment of silence. "Aid each other?" she asked at last.

"Very well," he agreed.

Not wanting to face the inevitable moment of pain when she would remove her clothing, Ferin straightened and jutted her chin at him. "You are worse than I, and you're half undressed."

He nodded silently.

Ferin bent forward and took off her boots, the grass cool on her bare feet. She placed them to one side and tore at the bottom of her leggings; the material there the least filthy. When she straightened, she glanced at him.

He was unfolding his tunic and inspecting it carefully, running his fingers through the fabric to find the tears that Ferin thought could possibly be repaired.

"I need to soak these in the water, and I need to clean my hands. Perhaps you should sit," she added, when he just watched her. "Over there, on that tree trunk." She gestured to a small stub of trunk with its roots buried in the ground. He looked at it, refolded his tunic, and strode over to sit without question.

Ferin turned and padded to the edge of the stream. A quick check for sharp rocks that would damage her feet, and she stepped in a few short strides. The water gently trickled around her ankles. Ferin closed her eyes. It was cool, refreshing, and welcoming. Opening her eyes with a soft sigh, she lowered herself to a crouch to soak the cloth, putting the few strips aside on a small protruding rock, before trying to scrub as much dirt as she could from her hands and nails. Ferin couldn't resist a hasty splash over her face. It only brought up the desire to strip and bathe despite the chill. The filth, grime, and grit was starting to rub her skin raw, and she smelled terrible. They all did. Later perhaps, she thought, when they were less vulnerable.

Appeased for the moment, Ferin took up the sodden cloth and moved to his side. He watched her movements with dark eyes. Ferin paid him no mind, used to stares of varying nature. She perched herself on a rock that was slightly lower than the trunk. Looking up, she said, "This will probably hurt, but I will have to clean it. Those beasts carry a lot of infection in their bite."

Again he said nothing. When she finally looked at his torso, she could feel the tension he radiated. She couldn't fathom his reasoning, other than pain. Perhaps it was emotional discomfort of having her attend him. Either way, she had to press on, so she began a quick assessment. The worst of them would most likely be the trauma along his side and abdomen. It was the largest gash, but until she could see it cleanly, she couldn't attempt a guess as to how long it would take to heal. The skin around it was already purpling, and she hadn't been around Dwarves in some time, but they were hardy enough. The bruising would clear up fast, at least.

The puncture wounds on his thigh and arm would be harder to cleanse without forcing more infection into the deep fissure, but she would deal with it when she got there. They had nothing left that would be clean enough to wash the lacerations out with. Ferin wondered if Gandalf's friend would have a well and pump.

It took a moment, but Ferin eventually realised that she had been gently poking, prodding, and brushing her fingers over the areas, close enough to breath on his skin, causing his flesh to rise up into goosebumps. She paused in inspecting his shoulder, swallowing. He was broad, and built of thick skin and muscle, with a lightly furred chest. Ferin absently thought this unusual considering his thicker and more whiskered cohorts. A thin trail of dark hair ran down the centre of his abdomen to the waistband of his leggings. A sudden heat rose to her cheeks, and a shiver ran from her hairline down her spine, where her stomach gently tensed.

She let out a surprised huff at herself, before remembering who she was with. Leaning back, she looked up to find him frowning suspiciously at her. "My apologies," she murmured, mouth twitching at her own silliness. "I am laughing at myself."

"Why?" he intoned deeply.

Ferin finally took up one of the cloths to start at his side. While she worked to wash most of the dried blood away, and to carefully wipe at the edges of the torn flesh, she spoke. "It has been…" She raised her eyebrows and hesitated for a moment, before barreling on, "...a long time since I have been in contact with a man. I have apparently been too blinded by your attitude towards me to notice that you are physically desirable."

She noted his surprise when she glanced up at him surreptitiously. "No need to give me that look. I only speak the truth."

His expression turned curious. "I never expected you not to be bold with your words, but I am baffled that you are so bold on this occasion, considering your ire with me not half a day ago, and more."

Ferin stopped and swapped to a new cloth, sitting up straighter, mouth pressed tight. "My ire stems from long years of fighting against the prejudice of others; their hatefulness, their misunderstanding, and their unwillingness to see what is in front of them." She looked away from his searching gaze, and focused once more on finishing her task with clenched teeth. He accommodated her by raising his arm to allow her easier access. "Forgive me, I am tired. I will not be so bold in the future."

"No. The need for forgiveness should be mine alone. I have made mistakes with those in my company." He turned his head towards their little camp through the trees. Ferin thought briefly of Bilbo. "I cannot afford to be as rash as I was at the beginning of this journey." He sighed, and Ferin felt an unwanted flush when his chest expanded and contracted beneath her fingers. "I am also unused to such attention from another," he confessed quietly. "It has been too long a time since anyone has expressed a yearning for me."

Ferin huffed, grumpy but more at ease then she was a moment ago. "We are a very sad pair."

"Indeed," he sighed, gruffly.

Ferin had exposed most the laceration now, where it extended around past the midline of his stomach.

She supposed his travels, and his anger over having lost his home, had isolated him from companionship. She had been the same. Unsure as to how to continue, Ferin blinked and turned her thoughts elsewhere. The area wasn't as bad as she had first thought. There was no infection, and the edges weren't as ragged as she imagined. "With careful attention this will heal. I am unsure if stitches would help. You should ask Oin. You are lucky to have had your armour."

He dipped his head, posture more confident despite her words. "We are a hardy Race."

"I suppose," she murmured. She had the sudden memory of burning wood and smoke, of Thorin rising through the fire to face Azog. She frowned. "You are also thick-boned and thick-skinned." She stood and cleaned the cloth in the stream before returning to attend his arm and shoulder. His shoulder, thankfully, wasn't a deep piercing of flesh. Instead, it was more of a shallow graze once she could see it clearly.

Thorin had a knowing, contrite look. "I'm sure you are thinking thick-headed, also."

Ferin pursed her lips and grabbed his left wrist to straighten his arm so that it rested in the nook of her elbow. Wrapping one hand under his tricep, she wiped the cloth over the wound on his bicep. He hissed at the sudden contact and pressure. "You're an idiot," she said firmly.

"I could not bear for The Defiler to go unchallenged."

"So you decided it was a good idea to go alone?" she snapped. "In the midst of fire, when your company needed you, would have helped you?"

His jaw tensed, and he cupped her elbow in his hand to brace against her vigorous scrubbing. "I thought him long dead - "

She stopped abruptly. "You nearly  _died_. For sudden, petty revenge. You would have, had it not been for the Hobbit you so callously talked about."

"My honour - "

"I am not talking of the honour of your forebearers."

"I am trying to redeem myself for - "

"He risked his life to save your hide." She began scrubbing again, and she could feel her pulse rushing by her ears. "I didn't even know if he wouldn't be killed on the spot. He was brave, and frightened. Even after he vanished in that place and you thought he had fled home - "

Ferin found it hard to breath, and her vision began to tunnel.

A pressure on either the side of her head brought her back a little. She found Thorin talking to her, his hands wiping away the wetness on her cheeks. "You are no longer in the Mountain. We are outside, too far for them to find you."

Ferin sucked in a deep breath, and found herself fixed by his gaze. "I thought I was going to be trapped there," she whispered harshly. "I can never escape them. The memories. The pain."

Thorin took one of his hands away and rested it on her injured shoulder, before squeezing hard. Ferin released a pained shout, and gripped his wrist. His blurred expression became sharper when the tears stopped, and Ferin inhaled fast against his determination. "This is your proof," he said firmly. "This pain, this wound, is testiment to your escape. You are safe. You fled with us, and you are safe. Bilbo is safe."

After a few moments to let it sink in, Thorin took the cloths from her and strode to the stream to clean them. When he returned, he gestured for her to turn away from him. Ferin shook her head. "I haven't finished - "

"You can help further after I attend you. Now cease your stalling. Turn."

Ferin did so, but hesitated when he tried to lift the hem of her tunic. He stopped immediately. "I mean you no harm."

Ferin shook her head. "It's not that." She cleared her throat. "I… I'm terribly scarred. It's not… pleasant to see."

He returned to his task, gently pushing the hem of her tunic up to her shoulders. She waited, finding his silence difficult to bear. Slowly, his hands clenched, bunching the fabric tightly. Ferin tensed, and tried to pull away. "I'm sorry. It's fine. I can look after myself."

His opened his hands immediately, but he caught the tunic before it covered her. "No, that is not - I am not angry with you. I am sorry. I am angry that those  _filth_  would do this."

Ferin, in an attempt at making light of it so this, and before they were missed by the others, said the first thing that came to her. "It wasn't just them, so there is no need to feel that way. You killed many already, as did I, so it's - "

"The Goblin's didn't do all of this?"

Ferin's words got stuck in her throat. His tone was dark, foreboding, and she realised her error too late. "I - no. You don't need to be a Goblin to be a monster."

After a heavy moment of silence, he ran his hand down her back, as if soothing the pain from decades long passed. Ferin closed her eyes, releasing some of the tension in her shoulders.

He helped her pass her tunic over her head to expose her shoulder. Ferin held it in front of her chest. "I am sorry," he said softly, placing the cold cloth over the wound to soak. "I have wrongly accused you on your crimes based on the rumours of the mad and cruel. I am surprised you were still willing to help me."

"I have seen your home in the height of it's glory. The tragedy of your people is well known. When Gandalf asked me, it was a dangerous task, but now it's a necessary quest. I know what it's like to want to go home."

He said nothing, but the quiet was almost comfortable. He cleaned around her wound, until he reached her breast bindings.

"You will have to remove these..."

Ferin untied one side of them with ease, catching the cloth as it fell from her in order to remain hidden from his view. There were some scars that wrapped around her torso that were ugly, and Ferin had no desire for him to be disgusted, especially in this strange, tentative camaraderie.

He vanished for a moment, and returned with what smelled like one of Oin's ointments. He had obviously come more prepared than she. After he applied the salve, Ferin went to tie her bindings, thinking he was finished. Instead she was startled to find him tracing her markings with light fingers, curiously following them down to the base of her spine. Ferin gasped when he did it again, this time with firm pressure from his entire palm. She arched her back towards him instinctively, shuddering at the feeling of the heat from another's skin. He did this several times, each with varying degrees of pressure.

After a few minutes where she was just getting used to the contact, he gave her some mercy and retied her bindings for her, before encouraging her to cover herself with her tunic once more. Ferin was unsure what his reasoning was, other than to soothe her somehow, but for what purpose, she couldn't fathom.

He moved away and she turned to find him applying the salve to himself. It was getting dark around them, Ferin realised. In order to aid him before it became too dark to see, she took the pot of ointment and helped him apply it.

Finally, he told her to wait, and strode into the water as far as halfway up his thighs. There he shoved down his leggings to attend the final wound. Ferin watched him curiously as he cleaned it, barely able to make him out in the increasing darkness of the evening. He sloshed his way back to her, breeches tied, and ripped away some of the leather over the area to apply the last of the salve.

Seeming satisfied, he took the pot from her and tucked it away in his coat, before donning his tunic. Once clothed, he draped his coat over his arm and waited for her by the edge of the path back to camp. Ferin grabbed her boots and slid them on before joining him, walking by his side in silence, unsure as to what to make of this strange turn in their acquaintance.

 

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_A/N: I apologise for the very late update. I am working through this painfully, as my writing style has changed over time, and it is very difficult to re-write this without it being time consuming and frustrating, but I shall try and persevere. Thank you for sticking with me,_

_Much love,_

_ZeB xx_


	16. Sight is a Heavy Burden

Ferin woke when something dripped onto her left cheek. It came with a familiar, unpleasant scent. Hot, panting breaths wafted across her skin, but after several minutes where she thought it might do more than watch her, she squinted her eyes open to faced a set of fawn paws. They were large; the size of her own hands, and thick strings of drool slowly curled down to sink into the dirt.

Sluggish now that her body had gotten a chance to rest, Ferin pushed herself up with a marked effort. Shoulder burning in protest, she rearranged her body with her legs crossed and wiped the drool off her face before taking in the animal in its entirety.

It was a massive dog. He was covered in a thick coat of fur that frilled out like a mane, with drooping ears matching equally droopy eyes and tongue.

She knew this dog.

He was large enough for a Hobbit to ride on like a pony but this dog carried no Hobbit. He carried a very small, gnarled-handed, humped old –

"-Witch! Yes you're quite right, my dear," said a cheerful Gandalf, who sat on a log by a small fire. The others were eating breakfast (more rabbit by the looks of it), warily watching between her and the dog - and the little old women, smaller than Bilbo - who sat beside an uncomfortable Thorin.

The dog inched itself closer, giant tail stirring up leaves and twigs with great swishes. He was eager to say hello, but Ferin knew he was mindful of his Mistress's wish of being polite enough not to leap on top of people he liked - unless they specifically allowed him to, of course. He snuffled impatiently, body quivering in anticipation. Ferin, not quite fully awake, stared at him. Rebel (so lovingly named by said Mistress), woofed at her softly.

Moira the Witch scoffed and rolled her eyes, little hands busy in her bag. When she spoke, her voice was a lilting version of Dwalin's. "Say hello to him before he wets himself with all the excitement!"

Ferin frowned slightly, looking back at the dog. He was standing now, feet dancing, head tossing as he tried to talk to her in roo's, huffs, and yips.

She sighed. "Alright mutt – uhf!" He'd pounced, forcing her flat to her coat. "Easy. You great beast! Calm down, and stop  _licki – ugh not the mouth! Pfft!_ Get  _off._ Stop. Off. Go say hello to someone else!"

Happy that he'd had his greeting, Rebel  _walked_  on her to remove himself, and then trotted away to one of the others. There were plenty of protests for several minutes.

"Off! No!"

"Stay away, you monster! Ah! Help!"

"No, don't go near that! That's my breakfast!"

"Gandalf, do something!"

"Anything!"

"He keeps  _licking!_ "

Eventually, Vala called him to play-wrestle with her and Dwalin.

Ferin had cleaned herself as best she could in those few minutes, sitting up and wiping the drool off her face and clothes.

"Is this the friend you talked about, Gandalf?" Dori asked, huffing and folding his cloak carefully, having managed to yank it back from the dog.

"Hmm? Oh no Mister Dori, that friend is a walk away, yet. I met Moira here on the way back. Seems she's been travelling for a time looking for Ferin."

Ferin looked at the woman with raised eyebrows. "Looking for me?"

"Indeed," Gandalf said.

"Come over here, Ferin," Moira called. The stooped Witch was near a log by the fire, and was busy swiping her hand across the dirt on the ground to make space for her charms. Bits of bone, wood, and animal teeth fell out of a small beaded bag she tipped over next. She took her time spreading them out carefully.

Ferin, realising Moira was going to do a reading, cautiously made her way over. Upon closer inspection, Moira was wearing an old, but thick travelling cloak that was covered in dust and bits of twigs. Her wrinkled face, small stature, and grey hair tied tightly made her look elderly and harmless, but the keen blue eyes underneath darker brows could frighten the hardiest of warriors. Her sharp chin and nose made for a severe countenance when paired with those eyes.

Moira looked up, rolling her eyes at Ferin's awkward, guarded stance beside her. "Sit dear, and don't look so worried! I'm not turning you into anything else." She waved a gnarled hand dismissively. "You've learned that lesson I suppose. Sit! My neck creaks when I look at you up there."

Ferin sat cross-legged like before, hands resting placidly on her knees. "Why are you here if not to change me again?"

Moira fixed her cloak just so before settling on the log. The woman sighed, reaching out a hand to touch Ferin's chin, tilting it one way and another. "This world is changing, love. And not for the better. When you came to me, your inebriation created a haze over my readings. All I could see was a selfish woman bent on changing her own Fate and it angered me."

Ferin looked away, feeling the other's scrutiny.

"I was wrong," Moira admitted softly, tilting her head with a contrite expression. "And for that I am sorry. I never understood your sorrow; I believed it to be born of naivety. That you made a mistake that was terrible only to your eyes. It wasn't until after that, that my curiosity led me to ask more questions. I did another reading. What I found was... Well." She sighed, removing her hand and leaning back. "I cannot tell you the details but I can help you along a little. The details may change with each choice that is made so telling you will only be pointless."

"There is no sense to your words," Thorin intoned deeply from beside them. He was frowning, arms crossed.

"I will," she answered sternly, glowering at the Dwarf.

"Can you tell us of our journey?" Gloin asked fervently, moving in with the others closer to the woman. "I have read the signs that favour our chance of taking back Erebor but I have seen no more since we began."

"I am not here for you Mister Gloin."

"But - !"

"No."

"Surely you could tell us something?" Bilbo asked gently, fiddling with his waistcoat's missing buttons.

Moira pursed her lips, fixing her cloak once more. "Perhaps," she said eventually. The others murmured happily for a few moments until her sharp "Ahem!" brought their focus back to her. "If you would be so kind, gentlemen, I have a reading to do."

They quieted. Ferin watched as the Witch swept a hand over her charms. Something shivered up Ferin's spine at the feeling of the air turning warmer, before the charms were drawn up and ito Moira's hands. She shook them in her closed fists, a whispering chant escaping her lips. When they were released, they scattered in a pattern only she could read; and read she did. A heavy frown puckered her brows and she muttered to herself.

Leaning back away from the charms, Moira turned to Ferin and in quick succession, the old woman ran her hands through Ferin's hair, moving her head up and down, peering into her eyes before finally pulling her forward to seek out the wound on her shoulder.

"Hmm."

Ferin cleared her throat and gently detangled herself from the woman. "What does 'hmm' mean?"

"It means that the reading was right. I was hoping distance and your presence would say different but alas, it has not."

"What did you see?" Bilbo asked solemnly, staring at the charms.

"I saw many things, Master Hobbit," she replied unhappily. "I saw many paths that led to many a tragedy. There were very few promising ones."

"Did you see anything of us?" Gloin asked, receiving a light thump from, surprisingly, Vala.

"Tell us what you can, please," Vala said placatingly to the Witch. "I would like to know what is to happen."

"I wouldn't," Oin muttered, adjusting his ear horn.

Ferin ignored them all, gazing at the scattered bits of bone and teeth. There was a battered coin there, nestling its black sheen against the white of a piece of bone. There was something foreboding about it.

"What does that mean?" she asked softly, pointing to the offending objects.

Moira looked at her, consideringly, the others quieting at their soft conversation. "It means Death."

Ferin took a deep breath, her heart feeling like iron weighted down in her stomach. "Mine?"

"On some paths, yes. Death in battle. Honourable and quick. On others... it is not yours directly, but you will feel great sorrow for those who do pass. More than what you have experienced in your life thus far. It will eventually wear your heart and you will pass from the loss some time after."

Ferin opened her mouth but no sound emerged. Who could she care for so much that their passing could take her with them? Vala came to mind but she'd only known her the last few years. They were close, and she would feel a great pain should her friend die, but to die herself from it...?

When she spoke, her voice felt raw, her breathing painful. "Have I made no right choices?"  _Have I not lost enough?_

It was Gandalf who spoke instead, his large hand resting on her shoulder. "The choices we make are made blindly. We only hope that they lead us to the right path. Some paths are more treacherous than others but forging through them can bring great reward."

"There is one path that will lead you true but it is so muddled with the rest, you will not find it on your own," Moira said. "It is also intertwined with the Fate of these other fellows. What happens to you now, your Fate is here, with them on this journey. This will be the path you lead that will determine how you end. But the only way to focus it, I'm afraid, is to give you a Sight Mark."

"A Sight Mark?" Vala asked.

"Indeed," Gandalf agreed, cottoning on to what Moira was thinking. "An intriguing idea," he mused. Reaching into his bag, the Wizard pulled out a small pot of red powder.

"A very old, little used magic," Moira answered, reaching for the pot and opening it. A small amount was shaken onto her palm where she rubbed the fingers and thumb of the same hand to spread it around. "I don't like to use it much myself."

"Then why use it on Ferin at all?" Bilbo asked, frowning in worry.

Gloin looked perplexed, having never heard of such a thing himself. "What does it do?"

"It gives the person the gift of Sight, but in small increments," Gandalf said, gripping his staff to tap the crystal on Moira's powder-covered hand. It heated up with a small red glow before burning brighter.

"Increments?" Ferin asked, watching in alarm. Moira's hand looked like hot metal, ready for branding. The Witch didn't seem affected by it.

"It will give you dreams and momentary flashes of what is to come. They may come quickly or slowly, in snippets or in long dreams. You may have only a moment to act should they decide to give you a foresight as to what is to come."

"Sounds very unpredictable," growled Gloin, his intrigue waning with the explanation.

"Sounds like a curse," Oin muttered.

"It is, that is why it is used little today," Moira agreed, seeming satisfied that her hand was ready.

For a moment, Ferin wanted to get up and turn back the way they came, to run and run until her legs could no longer carry her, until she reached the Shire where she could sit in the comfort without knowing the pain of what would come for them, but then she remembered who she was, what she had done, and what she had agreed to do. "Where are you going to put it?" Ferin asked, tensing as Moria closed in on her. "And will it hurt?"

"Your shoulder," the Witch answered, motioning her toward Thorin. "You're a strong lad," Moira smiled, ushering Ferin to kneel between his knees. "Could you hold her?"

Ferin tensed even more as Thorin regarded Moira carefully before grasping Ferin's arms.

"Closer, dear, don't be shy! Hug her if you must and yes, it will hurt a bit, dear. Bit of a sting." Moira grasped Ferin's tunic and hoisted it to her shoulders, exposing her wound and scars for all to see before pushing her firmly into Thorin's arms where he held her, large hands hot on her back.

Ferin could only rest her chin on his shoulder, hands placed on the log either side of his hips. His hair tickled her nose and she waited, tongue feeling swollen and throat dry. There was a moment of quiet and Ferin felt the brief shake of Thorin's head before his hands tightened unbearably.

"What – " White hot fire closed over her wound, and  _pressed_. She screamed. Thorin released one of his hands to press against the back of her head, forcing her forehead into his neck.

"You must keep quiet," he murmured urgently.

Ferin could hear Moira chanting something but the pain overwhelmed her senses. Whimpering, she pressed closer to Thorin, hands gripping his back, biting hard on her lip to do as he said.

When it was over, Ferin slumped in relief and Moira quickly placed a cold cloth on the mark. Fern flinched at the contrast.

"That should do it."

"I would hope so," Ferin gasped, trying to breathe through the residual pain. "Will the mark fade? Will the Sight leave me?"

"It will when it is ready," the Witch answered casually, busying herself with collecting her trinkets and charms.

"That's not very reassuring," Ferin muttered. Thorin grunted in agreement.

While she was recovering, Thorin still holding her to her surprise, Ferin listened to the Dwarves pack and ready themselves, Moira doing the same.

"Take care with what you see," Moira said softly from beside her, jewellery clacking together as she bent to see Ferin's face. "It is not always as it seems so I must ask you to  _think_ before you act. Give it time and I think you will find your own way. Good-bye and I hope we meet again under better circumstances."

Ferin released one hand from Thorin's back (he hissed at the release of pressure and she apologised), and clasped Moira's arm respectfully. "I have met many lately who seem to wish this also. I can only hope better circumstances are in the near future for us to do so."

Moira chuckled and brought a hand up to Thorin's where he held the cold cloth to her shoulder. "Take care of her, Thorin Oakenshield, and she will take care of you."

Thorin held her gaze, his own guarded but he nodded eventually, if a little bemusedly. He had underestimated Bilbo... perhaps he was realising he had done so with her as well. Ferin could only hope. Moira left with a smile and mounted her furry steed, Rebel wagging his tail in good-bye, tongue still lolling out from the side of his mouth. "I hope you fare well on your journey. Take care, good-bye!"

She urged Rebel away, the giant dog sprinting off in loping strides.

"Where does she go?" someone asked.

"She heads for the Shire, I believe," Gandalf responded, checking to make sure he had everything he needed.

"Will she fare well with the Orcs and Goblins?"

"I would worry about them, my dear Ori, if I didn't find them so wretched," the Wizard chuckled, adjusting his satchel. "She is very powerful and has her own paths to travel. Rebel is a very unique beast that can travel at great speeds."

Ferin listened quietly while the pain in her shoulder ebbed. Thorin continued to hold the cloth and she could only guess his thoughts were very deep for he barely noticed her breath across his ear. She became a bit distracted by it. It was large and very round; very different from Hobbits and Elves and that made her think more on his features.

The others were rotund and heavily bearded, with large bulbous noses and unusual hairstyles. Thorin and his nephews had none of these qualities. They were slimmer and finer featured and, besides Fili, their hairstyles were tame in comparison.  _Perhaps it was the line of Durin that made them so different_ , she thought. Thorin had a slim nose, thick eyebrows and a very simple hairstyle. The only feature that distinctly identified him as similar to his comrades were his round ears and Dwarfish manner.

He'd still not released her and she was loath to disturb him from his thoughts but her knees were beginning to hurt and her feet were getting cold. Her boots,which she'd removed the night previous sat by her coat and the morning dew was cold on her skin.

Risking the possibility that his mood would change (she held very little hope that he would be the same Dwarf in daylight now than he was the night before) Ferin moved her fingers against his back, shifting her chin on his shoulder. Her nose brushed his ear and she was amused to see it twitch, his body tensing immediately afterwards. "What does it look like?" she enquired softly.

He moved his head towards her as she spoke before he removed the cloth. "You look like branded cattle."

She grimaced. "Lovely."

"It looks like her hand," Bilbo's voice said beside them, the Hobbit having snuck up without notice. "It's red, and in the shape of her hand. Quite disturbing, if you ask me."

Ferin leaned back and Thorin let her, keeping his hands on her waist. She twisted her neck as far as possible and made out the edge of small finger marks. Bilbo reached forward and brushed his fingertips over it and it was like being struck by lightning; she jumped and a small picture of  _something_  flashed across her vision.

_Bilbo was running through a dark forest, sword unsheathed, hand cupped to his mouth, calling out something… but there was no sound, and the colour of the world around him was a terrible washed out grey. He was also alone._

Ferin gasped and blinked as the vision disappeared.

"I'm sorry, did I hurt you?"

"No, Bilbo, I don't believe you did," Gandalf answered softly, clasping a large and withered hand on his shoulder.

"Is it always like that?" Ferin asked, sitting back on her heels.

"I'm afraid not. I believe that one was painless and brief. Your first  _real_  vision will be difficult to bear."

Ferin sighed, rubbing her thumb and forefinger over her closed eyes. "Wonderful."

*

*

_A/N: Thanks for sticking with me for so long! Hoping to boost this along now in the next few weeks if I can. Thanks for all your support through reviews, favs, follows, subscribes and comments! Please forgive any errors etc. I am very tired when I get to edit these chapters, so I miss bits and pieces. ZeB xxx_

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I’ll try and make this brief. I read The Hobbit about 5 or 6 years ago now and never really connected with it. The film version of The Hobbit robbed me of my heart. It's wonderful. 
> 
> There will be language, smut, and most definitely violence, so be warned.
> 
> I am happy with follows, favourites and reviews. I am also happy to receive nothing, so long as you are enjoying the story, I don’t mind in the slightest.
> 
> This is posted on fanfiction.net, but I am editing the chapters, currently, so this is the cleaner version. I have a beta, the lovely FutureAuthoress, who will be aiding me in this endeavour, but be aware I may have to post without proof reading and there are most likely still mistakes, but I will do the best that I can.
> 
> ZeB xx


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